


The Million-Dollar Bounty

by fireroasted



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Assassin Beca, Brilliant Stacie, Domestic Fluff While Fighting Bad Guys, F/F, Female Friendship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 118,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27260596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireroasted/pseuds/fireroasted
Summary: Beca Mitchell is a seasoned assassin and a gifted marksman. Stacie Conrad is her best friend and partner in crime. She's brilliant, quick on her feet, and an absolute rascal. They're good at what they do. Until a job goes wrong in every way imaginable, and a redhead lands herself right into Beca's lap and into a world of trouble.
Relationships: Ashley Jones/Jessica Smith, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Stacie Conrad/Aubrey Posen
Comments: 112
Kudos: 218





	1. The Job

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rated M for gun violence, swearing, and the possibility of future smut.
> 
> This story is also very much both Bechloe- and Staubrey-centric, and I hope you'll enjoy the ride no matter who you love.

Beca taps her gloved fingers along the top of the ledge and looks out at the sleeping city below her. A quiet breeze whistles through her hair, and the scent of recent rain and a hint of sewage fills her nostrils. She sighs, content. There’s a special kind of serenity that one can only experience in the darkest part of the night. A special, simplistic kind of quiet, reserved for isolation high in the rooftops and away from the unsuspecting lives below. This is Beca’s favourite part of her job.

Beca Mitchell rubs her eyes and drops her jaw in a stifled yawn.

Even if it _is_ a little boring.

Suddenly, her earpiece crackles: “Mama Bird to Baby Bird, Baby Bird come in—do you copy?”

Beca rolls her eyes, but a small smile tug at her lips nonetheless. “Like hell you’d be anybody’s mom,” she replies.

The voice on the other end laughs. “So, you’re not objecting to the Baby Bird part?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Beca mutters, hoping to telepathically convey the good-natured middle finger to go with it. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing. Just bored. Heard you yawn.”

“What? These mics are way too sensitive,” Beca complains. She stretches her arms above her head, then stands up to stretch her legs.

“Honestly, yeah, I hear way too much heavy breathing when you run. I really could do less with all of your mouth noises.”

Beca ignores her. She dusts off her black pants, re-adjusts her tactical vest, and peers over the side of the roof. Her eyes sweep across the empty streets below, then up the building across, where silhouettes hover loudly beyond sheer white curtains. Music booms out of the solid brick building—the party has been in full swing for hours now, and seems to have no intention of slowing down.

Beca pulls a pair of glasses from her pocket and put them on. They’re rectangular, vintage vibe, with a bold, dark green brow—beautiful in her hands, probably less so on her face as they feel far too big. She winces as the blue tones spread across the lens—it always makes her a little dizzy when it turns on. Sometimes it makes her dizzy while she’s wearing them too, so she much prefers to keep them in her pocket when she can, putting them on a couple of times over the course of the night on a stakeout like this.

Once the initial discomfort goes away, she looks over to the opposite building once more, this time with a clear view of the inside. There are bodies everywhere—that hasn’t changed—and luckily it takes no time at all for the computer to pick up on their target.

Henry Cole, a tall, clean-shaven, extraordinarily ordinary-looking man in a crisp black suit, is seated in a safely cordoned off VIP section of the room, sipping champagne and surrounded by armed guards and other shady suits. He is a lot more put together than their usual crowd, but Beca has long learned never to underestimate a target, no matter how much of a boring accountant-type they appear to be at first glance. Beca zooms in a little. Not an accountant with this one—maybe a math teacher if he wore a cardigan. Very quickly, however, her glasses pull up a list of charges: kill count unknown, possession and distribution of drugs, and two speeding tickets. Beca scoffs—whoever sets up these charges always leave the driving violations at the end like a punchline. Not that this kind of intel is particularly helpful—the feds still hasn’t figured out how to tangibly assess an asshole’s knack for pissing off the wrong people.

Beca trusts her own intel to fill in the blanks.

Henry Cole is arrogant. He steps on other people’s toes on the daily, running big guns and bigger drugs in other people’s turf. His newest venture is devastating the local population with a novel opioid they’re calling rollies. He’s an asshole, but kind of an idiot, really, when you looked at the big picture. It goes with being the precious little brother of a major kingpin, Beca supposes, but it certainly doesn’t help with the ticking time bomb he’s screwed into his own head. If her client hadn’t been so generous, she would’ve left the man to fend off the bounty hunters. Almost everybody wants him gone, whether he knows it or not. Someone is bound to get him first, and she hates sharing.

Beca furrows her brow when her glasses start zooming in further on its own, hovering far too close to Cole’s face. She recoils and instinctively takes a step back when the pimple on his nose practically fills her entire field of vision. “Ew, Stacie, stop!” she cries, moments away from throwing Stacie’s very expensive toy off the side of the building. “Why are you always like this?”

Stacie’s laughter rings through the earpiece. Beca pictures her cackling triumphantly in her worn-leather chair back in her lab, and rolls her eyes once more. Stacie Conrad might be her partner and best friend, but despite her brilliant mind, she is never going to be a professional. “Sorry,” Stacie snickers, sounding not the least bit sorry at all, “I just wanted to see if I would fuck him.”

“Of course,” Beca smirks. “When the hell do you not? You even said you’d fuck that 80-year-old serial killer.”

“Don’t be ageist, Beca,” Stacie chides. “She looked like she’d have a lot of energy.”

“Dude, I _don’t_ want to hear about your grandma fetish.”

“Well, since Cole looks nice and comfy…” Stacie remotely zooms out and slowly pans around the room. “Let’s see who’s worthy of getting the unflappable Beca Mitchell all hot and bothered.”

“Dude, _no_. Bring me back to Cole, you asshole. He could be moving at any moment.”

Stacie ignores her and zooms into the face of a curly-haired man gesturing wildly as he speaks to another man, the wine glass in his hand sloshing around dangerously. “He’s cute. Looks kinda dorky. Like you.”

“He’s wearing a sweater vest!”

“So? Everyone’s the same once you get their clothes off.”

Next, man-bun in a chunky sweater, followed by a woman with a nose ring, then a young professor-type with a bow-tie. Each is met with an emphatic rejection as Beca tries to regain control before the dizziness caused by the lens causes her to projectile vomit off the side of the building.

Not to mention, Stacie’s laughter is really starting to get on Beca’s nerves.

“Seriously, Beca,” Stacie continues, “when was the last time you got laid?”

“Oh my god, Stacie, go back to work and leave me alone,” Beca groans loudly. She tenses, looks around her quickly, then settles back into the shadows to watch the party.

“This _is_ my work,” Stacie, of course, hasn’t taken a moment to catch her breath. “I mean, I’m not really doing a good job if I don’t look out for my partner in crime—like, literally. And part of looking out is making sure she fucks. Plain and simple. I can set you up! You just have to tell me your type—I know a lot of people…”

Beca narrows her eyes and tunes Stacie out when she finally gets a view of the whole party, focussing instead on Cole whispering into a redhead’s ear. With all her strength, Beca finally manages to wrangle control back from Stacie and focuses in on the girl. She frowns. She’s never noticed female company near Cole, not once in the four hours they’ve been here. The redhead is beautiful from what she can see behind her curtain of hair, but all the women at this party are. Beca watches their intimate conversation, wishing she can hear what they’re saying.

Her stomach knots. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Who is she?” Beca mutters absentmindedly.

Stacie hums, apparently unphased by the interruption to her monologue about Beca’s sex life. “Cole doesn’t have any known lovers,” she says slowly, as she’s presumably tapping away at her collection of too-fancy-for-Beca computers. “She’s probably just a civ at the wrong place, wrong time.”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t seen him interact with any women all night,” Beca says. “They’re definitely not strangers. She could be working for him. Or against him. Either way, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she’s there. I just have a feeling.”

“Get in closer,” Stacie directs. “I’ll see if I can do a face scan.”

Beca switches to her other knee when her legs begin to feel numb from their kneeling position. She watches the redhead closely, murmuring for her to turn around so she can get a better look. When her wish comes true, however, she isn’t prepared for all the air in her body to leave her at once. The redhead is smiling at somebody, her entire face lighting up the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, and Beca nearly falls backwards.

“Holy shit,” Beca mutters absently. Beautiful does not do this woman justice.

Stacie whistles. “Damn, what a hottie,” she says, chuckling. “Guess we found Beca Mitchell’s kryptonite.”

Beca says nothing, simply allowing herself a moment to silently appreciate the beautiful woman and hope to _god_ she isn’t going to make their job harder than it already is. Because, fuck, she really does hate it when Stacie is right. And if Stacie’s right and she’s just really just a civilian, then there are a million ways this woman can get caught in the crossfire.

The woman soon turns back to face Cole, and the disappointment is tangible. Beca’s brain is still sizzling when Stacie speaks again: “Chloe Beale. She’s a…kindergarten teacher? No known criminal records or criminal associations. One of her cousins has a DUI. Ooh! Ooh! Most importantly—she’s siiiingle.”

“Huh?”

“The redhead, Beca. Focus, we’re at work,” Stacie teases.

Beca shakes her head lightly. “Shut up,” she replies lamely. She closes her eyes briefly to calm her heart and head. “Okay,” she sighs, “So she’s clean?”

“Far as the feds know—it sure looks like it.”

“What is she doing at some gangster’s party?” Beca asks, furrowing her brows as she watches Cole bury his face into her neck. She cringes—the man seems like an awful kisser and a worse lover.

“Yeah, no idea. Like I said, wrong time, wrong place?”

“Civs don’t just waltz into these kinds of parties, Stace.”

“I’m sure all kinds of women do,” Stacie chuckles. “These kinds of gangbangers constantly underestimate women. It’s why they never live long. Oh shit, looks like they’re leaving together.”

“Fuck,” Beca murmurs. “I’m still not convinced she’s a civ, but if she is, then she’s in for a lifetime of therapy.”

“Either way, you better get going. They’re heading for the elevator.”

Beca shoots up from her perch and heads for the fire escape while Stacie keeps her posted on their position. She hops down the stairs, a set at a time, staying low to keep as quiet as she can. Once she hit the ground, she presses herself against the side of a dumpster with an obstructed view of the party.

“Cole’s car just pulled up. Black with tinted windows. Supervillain style,” Stacie informs. “Stay in the shadows, Baby Bird.”

Beca scoffs quietly, unholsters her gun and attaches the silencer. “Wheel and deal?” Beca asks.

“That works,” Stacie informs. “If my calculations are correct, it should be going at about thirty-five by the time it gets near you. Assuming the driver has any brains, he’ll most likely swerve left to avoid the lamp post if you pop the tire, which gives us an 41.57% chance that he’ll hit the mailbox. Either way, you’ve got a clear shot at Cole. Sending the simulation to you now.”

Beca nods despite knowing she’s just a circular blip on Stacie’s screen. Half a second passes before an AR replica of the car appears through the walls before her and an illustration of a bullet tailed by dotted lines sail through and sends the car flying at precisely measured trajectories. The simulation loops several times, each with slightly different results. Satisfied with Stacie’s always brilliant handiwork, Beca said, “Count me in. We’ll go for the mailbox scenario.”

“They’re still in the building. Probably necking.”

Beca makes a face, but patiently waits with her gun poised and ready to go.

Not two seconds later, Stacie groans. “Shit, I think we might have company. Two bogeys creeping up on Fifth. I’m picking up on something else too—possibly snipers. Dammit, there are too many variables now.”

“Yikes,” Beca murmurs. “Cole is one stupid asshole. There’s gotta be ton of informants running around.”

“Good thing the client paid half upfront,” Stacie chuckles. “I’m running simulations now, but I don’t have enough data. You might just have to freestyle it, Baby Bird. And you better get him before the mercs do, or we ain’t getting paid.”

“Yeah, yeah. And stop calling me that!” Beca grumbles.

“They’re out in the clear,” Stacie announces suddenly.

Beca creeps closer to the mouth of the alleyway, perches in the shadow of the dumpster. She spots the car a fair distance away, and an unmarked van at the end of the road. A brown car on the end of the street has two shapes inside—cops, she suspects. It seems the whole town is after Cole.

She takes one last look at Cole and the redhead on his arm heading toward the car before pulling her glasses off her face. “Keep them on,” Stacie says. “I can snag a picture in case we have to split.”

Beca obeys with minimal grumbling—she’s a better shot without them, but Stacie has a point, and they all want to get paid. “Right. Any movement?”

“Target is in the car,” Stacie reports. “One bogey on the move; no other movements. Hacking into satellite and traffic now in case we lose them. There’s a beer can sitting by the window across. Snag it and throw off the eyes before going for the wheels.”

Cole’s car starts, tailed by two other black cars. Out of the corner of her eye, Beca catches the blur of white rushing toward them. One of the black cars act fast—a man pushes out of the passenger side window and shoots at the white van, leaving sizeable holes in its windshield. Cole’s car speeds up, but they must’ve noticed the brown car pulling out to block its path. Instead, it swerves to the right, plowing through the mailbox at thirty-five, just as Stacie predicted. But Beca is still squatting in the alleyway with a fully loaded gun, adrenaline pumping when she realizes the car is heading straight for her.

On instinct, she takes her shot before the bright white headlights catches her—one in each of the front two tires, blowing them out—and leaps out of the way just in time for the car to graze past the dumpster and hit the opposite wall. The driver steps out of the car, confused but mostly unphased by the impact. He looks around, his gun at the ready.

“Beca! Are you okay?” Stacie shouts.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Beca mumbles back. “Not in the clear just yet.”

Beca hides further in and points her weapon, aim locked in on Cole through the windshield. She grits her teeth, however, and feels her heart instantly sink deep when she realizes that Cole has a gun pressed against the redhead’s temple. The expression on the redhead’s face is almost heartbreaking, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

“Beca, I have your eyes,” Stacie says hurriedly. “You don’t have a clear shot. I’m running the Precision Protocol to you now. It’s not perfect, but it’s gonna have to do. Don’t move until it uploads.”

“Fine,” Beca mutters, adjusting her glasses on her nose. While Beca waits for the blue screen to flood to green, she watches the brown car pull up across the alleyway. Federal agents, FBI in white letters across their backs, spilled out, shouting in the general direction of Cole. The driver has disappeared, likely squatting by the car out of sight with his gun ready for intruders from any direction. He must look like an idiot, but it’s enough to remind Beca not to be careless. Cole is still in the car, baring his teeth at the redhead as he jabs her with the gun, shouting inaudibly. Fucking asshole, Beca thinks as her blood runs hot.

Two heartbeats later, nameless bullets start flying. Beca instinctively flinches deeper into the shadow before she realizes they’re for the feds, who pull back out of view, exchanging bullets with Cole’s men.

“Sniper in range,” Stacie reports, flashing a heat signature above her in the neighbouring building.

Beca aims and fires without hesitation, the silencer and ensuing gunfight enough to silently take down the unnamed competition without incident. “Huh, I was squatting next to a merc this whole time?”

Stacie laughed. “D’aw, you could’ve been friends. God knows you need more of ‘em.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Beca mumbled. “Hate when assholes try to steal my kills. My money, dude.”

“ _Our_ money, darlin’,” Stacie teases.

“Whatever. I’m ready for Cole. The cops seem pre-occupied.”

“Yeah, your best bet is to take Cole down, rescue the girl, kiss her, get married, and live happily ever after.”

“ _Dude_!” Beca rolls her eyes so hard that it’s a shame nobody could see the way her eyeballs didn’t fall out. A damn miracle, really.

“You better hurry,” Stacie says with sudden seriousness. “There might be more snipers in the area.”

Beca squints down the barrel of her gun as a green circle floats into the perfect point of impact. Unintelligible calculations roll along the left side, and she does her best to push it out of view as she aims for the circle. “You’re sure your precision-whatever is accurate?”

“My tech never lies, Baby Bird,” Stacie chuckles, “but I suppose even _I’m_ not impervious to human error.”

“If I kill that woman, I’m never going to talk to you again. You know that, right?” Beca says matter-of-factly.

“I’ll marry you myself if you accidentally kill her,” Stacie replies solemnly. “Scout’s honour.”

Cole’s head swivel around like a broken doll, trying to simultaneously watch the action outside, assess his exit routes, and keep the squirming, possibly crying redhead still. Beca presses further against the wall to avoid his eyes. Despite the precariousness of the whole situation, she can’t resist biting back a reply to Stacie: “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll leave you at the fucking alter.”

“Wow, harsh, babe.”

“I’m taking the shot,” Beca mumbles, ignoring her.

It’s then, however, that she sees the driver coming back.

She shoots the driver almost instinctively before he can get back into the car, sending a bullet over the top of the car and clean into his head. To the unassuming eye, it would look like a couple of stray bullets meandered over from the gunfight. Nobody ever suspects what they can’t see. Unfortunately, it’s still enough to alarm Cole, now ducking low behind the driver’s seat.

“His cell’s pinging—he’s calling for back-up. You better hurry, Beca,” Stacie says worriedly.

By the time she finishes her sentence, Beca has already scuttled to the other side to get a better shot. The green circle pops up once more, and Beca doesn’t not hesitate. She fires two successive shots into the bullseye, one through the glass, with another to follow its tail. The second bullet scuffs the driver’s seat, catching Cole in the shoulder. Beca swears under her breath and is moving in to take another shot, when she sees the redhead try to wrangle the gun from Cole. He moves in and out of view as he tries to push her back. The green circle floats from side-to-side, the calculations flickering faster than the human eye can read it.

Suddenly, a single gunshot rings out loudly among the rest.

The woman inside the car screams, and the gunfire outside slows.

Beca lowers her gun slowly. “Oh fuck,” she whispers.

“Jesus Christ,” Stacie joins in, equally disbelieving. “She is _not_ going back to kindergarten anytime soon.”

“Fuck,” Beca repeats.

“Client probably won’t cash out either.”

“God _damn_ it!”

“Heads up—angry assholes incoming.”

Beca glances down the dark end of the alleyway, where her escape route is calling her name. She pictures kicking back after a long night, and unwinding with some music. But when she looks back, the girl’s eyes are blown wide as she looks around frantically. Worse, she’s still holding Cole’s smoking gun in her shaking hands, and the booming gunfire all but comes to a stop. Hulking men make their way toward her. The woman looks panicked, but guilty as sin to anybody with eyes, and they are _not_ going to let it slide.

But that’s fine, Beca tells herself. It’s not her problem now. She did her job, and now she’s free to go. Hell, this woman cost her half a paycheck. Isn’t that enough? the devil on her shoulder whispers. She got herself into this mess.

It’s not her fault, the angel drawls. She’s an innocent victim.

But we don’t know anything about her. Aside from the fact that she killed a _very_ bad dude.

Aren’t we all innocent until proven guilty?

The men are getting closer now, and the girl can barely stand as she stupidly decides to open the car door, holding the gun for dear life as her entire body seems to shake like a newborn deer.

Fuck.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Beca mumbles.

“Doesn’t seem like it, my friend,” Stacie snickers back.

“We’re not witness protection!”

“Walk away, then,” Stacie says nonchalantly, knowing Beca would never leave a lamb to the slaughter. “Cole’s got dirty cops—she’s dead either way.”

Beca sighs. She’s definitely getting soft for even _considering_ putting her life on the line to help a trigger-happy dumb civ who’s probably not a civ at all. But you’ve always been soft, Stacie’s voice pipes in despite the radio silence on the other end of the earpiece.

And it definitely doesn’t help that she’s also about the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen, her unhelpful inner voice supplies.

“Beca, make a choice. We gotta go.”

Beca wants to scream.

Instead, she runs for the redhead, pulling her gun out just as several of the goons draw their pistols. Adrenaline rushes, the world suddenly spinning in slow motion as she calmly pulls the redhead behind her and fires three consecutive shots at three consecutive men, hitting them all square in the head. She narrows her eyes as the green circle in her glasses flash between her targets distractedly. Vaguely, she hears Stacie apologize for the flashing, saying she’ll fix it before finally managing turning the glasses off. She ducks behind the open car door when the men return fire, keeping an iron grip on the redhead’s wrist. There isn’t time to reload and she has two bullets left.

“We have to go!” Beca cries, tugging the redhead behind her as she pushes into the darkness of the alleyway. Bullets rain down from the other end, but they run and run, thankful for the barricade Cole’s car created. Beca drags the redhead through the alley and out onto an empty street.

“Black Kia to your left,” Stacie instructs.

“Got it,” Beca murmurs at an old Forte that has really seen better days. To the redhead, she shouts, “Get in!” before hopping into the driver’s seat. She plucks the key taped on the bottom of her seat and starts the car, just as several unmarked vans roar up the top of the road. Luckily, the redhead doesn’t seem to miss a beat, already strapped in and ready to go when she starts tearing down the road.

“Do you have your phone?” Beca asks gruffly.

The redhead nods unsteadily.

“Turn it off.” Shakily, the redhead fishes her phone out from the neck of her dress, nearly dropping it when Beca takes a particularly sharp turn to avoid a car trying to turn out onto the main road without looking. She catches it before it can hit her lap, and Beca allows her attention to stray long enough to make sure the device is properly turned off. “That’s fine for now,” Beca mumbles.

The redhead nods stiffly, but doesn’t speak as she slips her phone back into her dress.

“How’s the traffic, Stace?” Beca asks, narrowly dodging a white van barrelling toward her from a perpendicular street.

“You’re all green from here—sadly, five o’clock traffic doesn’t really show off my ingenuity.”

“You mean the trick you learned from _The Italian Job_.”

“Beca Mitchell, I resent the fact that you’ve seen _one_ movie and you keep using it against me!”

Beca chuckles, continuing to speed down the road like the devil was on her tail. One by one, she manages to lose her pursuers, and she can’t help but grin into the rear-view mirror as the elation set in. She suddenly registers the rhythmic whooshing of a helicopter above her, and she almost rolls her eyes. The feds are always so dramatic.

She ducks into a parkade, at Stacie’s direction, slowing down enough now for her to hear the redhead exhale. She almost forgot about her in the thrill of the chase.

“W-who are you?” The redhead finally finds the courage to ask.

Beca leans forward, over the wheel, as she scans each license plate in the parkade carefully and trying her best not to focus too much on the beautiful woman and her honey-sweet voice beside her. Beca allows the long silence to stretch as she mentally reminds herself several more times that this could very well be a trap. She contemplates her choices, then makes the massive mistake of looking at the woman straight in the eyes, and _damn,_ she is even more gorgeous up close.

Crystal blue eyes, expressively fearful though they are, and slightly mussed red hair cascading down her shoulders over a sapphire blue cocktail dress. If Beca knew what to say before, she certainly doesn’t anymore.

“P4, you goob, and stop gawking or she’s gonna barrel roll out of this car and get herself killed. Feds are on the block—they don’t seem too suspicious yet, so go slow.”

Beca blushes, and tears the glasses off her face, shoving it back into the pocket of her tactical vest with one hand as she keeps the other on the wheel. “I really hate you sometimes,” she mutters.

“S-sorry?” The woman beside her says.

Impossibly, Beca feels the heat burn across her cheeks even brighter, right up to the tip of her ears. Vaguely, she hears Stacie cackling on the other end and promptly vows that there is going to be violence as soon as she sees her again.

“I…wasn’t talking to you,” Beca mumbles back.

“Oh,” the woman says slowly, “sorry... I, um…my name is Chloe?”

“Right,” Beca replied tersely. She wants to punch herself in the head, but that would probably scare the girl even more. Chloe looks small, hunched over in her seat, and of course she’s making it worse. She can shoot ten straight bullseyes into the same hole, yet _why is it so damn hard talking to a girl?_

“Wow, you have _such_ a way with words, Baby Bird,” Stacie adds unhelpfully. “White Honda to your left.”

Beca parks the car, making a point of slamming the door extra hard as the only outlet to her frustration. “Dude, don’t people in movies get Ferraris and shit? What the hell is this?” She says to Stacie, tapping a knuckle on the hood of the Accord. She turns to Chloe still seated in the Kia, and lifts her brow. She taps her foot as Chloe struggles to free herself from her seatbelt. With a sigh, Beca opens the door and pulls her up by the forearm, ignoring the tingling sensation that spreads through her.

“Where…where are you taking me? Please, I was…he was trying to kill me. I didn’t…I didn’t…” Chloe all but whimpers. Beca leads her to the passenger door of the Accord, pretending the fragility of Chloe’s voice doesn’t affect her in any way as she closes the door and makes her way to the driver’s seat, opting to ignore the question when she didn’t know how to answer it.

This car is newer, with a shiny new touch screen and a keyless ignition. In the back seat is a box, which Beca immediately drags over to her lap. She hands Chloe a blonde wig, then pulls out another for herself. “Put this on. Extra precaution,” she tells her as she pulls her own hair back to make room for the wig. She also hands Chloe a glittery pink bomber and proceeds to take her glasses out and clip them on her tank top before throwing on a dark green university sweatshirt. When she looks over at Chloe, with the bomber over the cocktail dress and the ridiculous wig perched a little too far back, she chokes down a laugh, though she doesn’t quite manage to fully suppress the half-grin. Chloe returns the smile uneasily, and flinches back a little when Beca suddenly moves into her space to adjust her wig.

Her fingertips gently brush against the soft skin. They hold each other’s eyes for a moment, and Beca feels her heart about to burst through her throat. A light blush covers Chloe’s cheeks, but the fear is still there, as loud and clear as a neon sign. Quit freaking her out, Beca chides herself, putting as much distance between them as she can inside the car once the wig is securely fastened.

Beca presses the button—knowing Stacie had most likely hidden the key in the glove compartment—and watches the dashboard blink to life. She sighs, knowing what’s coming next.

As Beca pulls out of the parking spot, the screen blips, and the regular functions disappear only to be replaced by a grinning high-definition video of Stacie, streaming live from their headquarters.

“Hi, guys!” Stacie all but sings as she waves to the camera like the brilliant fool Beca knows her to be.

“Go away, Stace,” Beca grumbles.

But Stacie ignores her, directing her smile instead to Chloe, who is watching the screen incredulously.

“Hey, Chloe! Wow, you’re super gorgeous, you know that? I can see why Beca’s speechless.” Beca hunkers down, unsuccessfully hiding her blush even as she mutters death threats in Stacie’s direction. She can feel Chloe watching her, and all she wants is to be ejected from this seat and into the sky like an old cartoon. Mercifully, Stacie goes on after a few self-indulgent snickers. “How are you holding up, hon?”

Chloe shifts uncomfortably, still appearing to be trying her best not to cry. “Um…I don’t…I don’t know what’s going on. Am I in trouble? Who are you guys?”

Stacie presses a hand to her heart like she’s watching a stream of puppies rolling around and not a distraught woman caught in the middle of a very dangerous game. “Sorry, I guess Beca didn’t really introduce us,” she says cheerfully, “Beca’s a sweet person, really, but she can be a real bear when she’s tired and hungry. Not to mention a real idiot around beautiful women like yourself. Sorry about her.” Beca flinches, but keeps her eyes on the road as she cautiously drives out of the parkade. As annoying as Stacie is, it’s a relief not to have the pressure of talking to the beautiful redhead on her shoulders while trying to drive a moving vehicle. Even when Stacie seems hell-bent on making her look like an ass. “I’m Stacie,” Stacie goes on with a little bow. “I guess you can say that I’m the brain and Beca is the muscle.”

“Oh, okay?” Chloe says quietly, like she’s struggling to put pieces together.

“We’re a sophisticated group of ladies who dedicate ourselves to justice.”

Beca rolls her eyes, but says nothing, trusting Stacie to keep their profile low. 

“What does that mean?” Chloe whispers, her voice tight with more than a little panic. “What do you guys want with me? Am I going to jail?”

“Sweetie, you’re white as a ghost,” Stacie tried to soothe. “Relax, you’re not in trouble. Not with us. We don’t want anything from you—well, maybe Beca does—”

“Dude!” Beca barks at the screen, nearly missing a stop sign as she did.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stacie says, though her smirk stays exactly where it is. “Alright, business first, pleasure second. Chloe, do you still have the gun?”

“Y-yes...but how…how…how do you know my name?” Chloe asks. Beca glances over to see the silver pistol in her lap, and notices the sprinkle of blood that had made its way to her blue dress.

“Good.” Stacie sighs, rubbing her eyes as she speaks. “Look, Red, I’m gonna be honest with you—tonight’s been a real mess. Your boyfriend was shot in his car and you’ve got a million witnesses, including us and the feds. There’s an APB out for a redhead—no video yet thanks to yours truly. They’ll probably get a sketch out soon. The chatter is that the redhead—that’s you, Chloe—holds the smoking gun. They’ll be looking for you, but there’s a bigger problem. His brother, George, is going to get wind of this very soon if he hasn’t already, and he’s going to want revenge.”

“Yes…B-b-but I didn’t mean to! He was…he was going to kill me!” Chloe says. She’s near-tears, but she bites her quivering lip to hold back the emotion as best she can. “I-I…what’s going to happen to me?”

“Nothing if you let us help you,” Stacie says gingerly. “But we can’t do that without your help.”

“I don’t understand,” Chloe whimpers. “Why? Who _are_ you and how do you know who I am?”

“We saw you at the party,” Beca explains quietly. She keeps her eyes on the road, “The only woman to get close to Cole—Stacie pulled your info. Why were you there?”

There’s a long pause followed by a deep breath. “I was invited by a friend,” she says, speaking slowly to iron out the nerves in her voice, “I thought it was just a fancy party and it…it sounded fun.”

“What is your relationship with Henry Cole?”

“I met him at the party,” Chloe replies. “He seemed nice, and he was really charming, so…”

“He convinced you to go back to his place?” Stacie finishes.

Chloe nods, her eyes most definitely watery now as the night is no doubt replaying over and over in her mind. Beca narrows her eyes, as she turns left, for the fourth time, on this corner. They’ve been going in circles for a while now, but Chloe hasn’t seemed to notice. Not while she’s vacantly staring at the gun and clutching her seatbelt. Beca is grateful the girl isn’t a loud crier—she wouldn’t know what to do with that. Still, her heart can’t help but tug, wishing she can do something to ease her. Instead, she steels herself and continues with her interrogation: “Do you work for Henry Cole?”

Chloe shakes her head emphatically.

“Police?”

Chloe shakes her head again.

“Interesting. So, who _do_ you work for?” Stacie pushes on.

“Um, Pinewood Elementary School?” Chloe squeaks.

Stacie laughs. “Told you she’s a civ, Beca.”

“Doesn’t prove anything,” Beca mutters. “Either way, we can’t let you go home. George and the feds will be after you, so unless you want to die or go to jail or both, you’re better off with us.”

“But you’re…I don’t remember seeing you at the party…do you…do _you_ work for Henry?”

Beca scoffs. “No,” she says casually. “I guess you can say we’re assassins. Bounty hunters, or whatever.”

Stacie laughs when she sees the look on Chloe’s face. “Really nice ones, though.”

“W-what?”

“You have two options, Chloe,” Stacie informs her. “You can either leave now and get picked up by Georgie or the feds, or you can stick with us, and trust that we can protect you. It’s a gamble, but we’re not gonna beg anymore than we have to when we’re doing you a favour.”

“You’ve seen our faces,” Beca adds quietly. “I might have to kill you myself if you make trouble for us once we let you go. So…yeah.”

“Beca would be heartbroken if she had to kill you, but she’d probably do it,” Stacie says with a shrug. “If she won’t, then I will, and I absolutely hate letting the pretty ones go. We want to protect you, Red, but we’ve gotta protect ourselves too.”

“What…what about…” Chloe whispers, more to herself than anyone else. She clasped her fingers over the cold, dead metal in her hand, unable to even _begin_ articulating everything that came rushing through her head.

“Your life? You shed blood,” Beca says, her voice hauntingly soft. “People saw you. The rest isn’t a priority.”

“Trust me, Red,” Stacie says, “you did the world a hell of a favour by taking that bastard off the street.”

“R-right…”

“Here,” Beca says, handing her a blindfold. “Put this on.”

Chloe nods warily.

“Try to get some sleep. It’s a long drive ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm a long-time lurker in the Pitch Perfect fandom, and a first time writer for this fandom.
> 
> I have no idea if the fandom is still alive, but I'm enjoying this story immensely. I have roughly 70 pages already written up, but no posting schedule as I'm constantly revising my work, so please do hit the subscribe button if you're keen to read more. 
> 
> You can find me on @fireroastedmoo on Twitter, and if you liked this first little bit, please let me know! It's lonely out here, not knowing if you're by yourself on this island of feelings. 
> 
> All kudos, comments, shares, bookmarks, etc. are super appreciated.


	2. The House

Chloe Beale has always been just shy of extraordinary her entire life. No matter what she does, she always comes up short. She has never been any good at much of anything, even when she put her whole heart into it. Often a runner-up, with a whole lot of participation and best effort certificates to match. Sure, she was well-loved. Praised even, but people never really _expected_ much of her.

Much less want her dead.

She would never have seen this coming. Overnight, she became not only a murderer, but deeply indebted to two beautiful assassins and their _gosh darn mansion_? It’s a story she would’ve found amusing if not a little over-the-top in her past life. After all, Chloe isn’t the type to be a protagonist. A supportive side character, or a feisty rival in love—sure, but she is _not_ a heroine. Or is she the villain?

Chloe had far too much time in her head to decide during the car ride.

When the blindfold finally came off, they were in the middle of the forest and Chloe thought for sure that Beca was going to kill her right then and there with Stacie watching from wherever she was. If she were the villain, it’s what she deserved. If she were the heroine…did that make Beca the villain?

But she saved her life.

There again, Chloe Beale found herself stuck in an existential loop. Side characters and feisty rivals never have to deal with deadly grey morality, she moped.

That Beca and Stacie are somehow a part of a big conspiratorial plan seemed to be the most logical explanation for all this. Yet, Beca simply told her to put the wig back in the box—nobody’s going to find them now—and to eat a granola bar from the glove compartment if she’s hungry. Which she did, gratefully, and have yet to die from poison.

A long, winding trek through the forest later, they came upon a grand set of wrought-iron gates that swung open into a vast green field leading up to a massive stone structure. From far away, she’d assumed it was a country cottage, but as they drove closer, she quickly realized how very wrong she was. The massive country villa was all stone, ivy crawling up the sides, and—was that a _lake_ on the horizon?

Chloe would’ve put up a lot less resistance if she knew being taken by a couple of assassins could be so luxurious. Not that she put up much resistance anyway—Beca scares her and thrills her in ways she hasn’t quite fully processed yet, and Stacie is…scary in a totally different way.

“Chloe.”

Chloe tears her eyes from the building they stopped in front of and turns to Beca, her heart unexpectedly skipping a beat at the gentle way her name falls from the other woman’s lips. Beca’s eyes are inscrutably dark, the bags under them prominent now in the daylight. She must not sleep very much, Chloe realizes. It must come with the territory of taking lives.

Chloe shivers when she suddenly remembers the feeling of her hand on the trigger, followed by the weight of Henry’s lifeless body draped across her own. She mentally shakes it away.

“Look, it’s been a crazy night, but let’s get a few things straight,” Beca says. “I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you...yet,” Chloe gives a small nod, unsure what to say to that. “But you’re not a prisoner, okay? We are a family here, and we don’t tolerate liars, thieves, or rats.” Beca pauses, her teeth tugging at her lower lip with a worried expression—Chloe wonders if it’s guilt she that she sees in her eyes, and she can’t help but find it all strangely endearing. “You…you remember why I was there last night, right?” Beca asks suddenly.

Chloe nods slowly.

“Well…the people who live here—we’re not all like that, so…be nice…I guess?”

Stacie pops back into the screen, and Chloe jumps. She didn’t notice her leave. “We’ve got eyes everywhere in this complex, so I wouldn’t run away or anything.”

“Or betray us,” Beca adds in a quiet voice.

“Other than that,” Stacie chirps on, “you’re gonna have a great time. See you girls in the foyer!”

The foyer is surprisingly welcoming. It’s as modest as it possibly can be with a set of stairs winding down the side and a chandelier hanging off the ceiling. Polished floors and cabinets with little golden handles next to potted ferns build up the warm tones. Like a wealthy grandmother’s house—if grandma happened to be a group of trained assassins. Or at least a couple of assassins, Chloe amends as she recalls Beca’s gentle plea. Even two assassins are two too many on a regular day, but it’s easy to forget who this house belongs to when the scent of baked goods is wafting into the open atrium.

Beca closes the main door behind them as Chloe stands in the middle, mouth open in awe as she takes in her surroundings. She turns back to look at Beca with an expression that says _are you seeing what I’m seeing?_ Beca returns a shrug, and just the barest hint of a proud smile.

Chloe blushes, quickly reminding herself that Beca is a trained _killer,_ despite the way the tiny bit of warmth she throws her way seem to be working toward melting her heart completely. Luckily, Chloe doesn’t have long to stand around and wonder what the hell was wrong with her for wanting to squeeze an _assassin’s_ cheeks. A woman soon appears at the top of the steps, wearing a wide smile and a scandalously short, puffy-sleeved, white romper.

“Welcome!” She announces, throwing her arms out as she descends the stairs like royalty. Chloe gapes as she comes closer. This must be Stacie, she realizes, and she is _tall_ , not to mention…strangely familiar. But before she can think of a single reason why, she finds herself engulfed in a big hug, and the moment passes. “You made it!”

“Yeah, I’m here too,” Beca grumbles as she makes her way into a short hallway to their left.

“Hey, hey, get back here, Baby Bird. We have a guest!” Stacie shouts after her. She takes two long steps toward Beca and drags her back, practically by the collar from the way Beca was glaring. “Besides, I’ve got brunch waiting in the dining room for us. And an epic tour to follow that _you_ will be giving.” In one smooth movement, Stacie reaches into Beca’s sweatshirt to grab the pair of glasses Chloe had seen earlier. “I’ve got some work to do,” she concludes, waving the glasses a little.

Beca runs a hand through her hair, and Chloe watches the movement of her hand before she can catch herself. “I gotta shower,” is all she says, pulling herself free from Stacie’s grasp. “Save me some food.”

With that, she stalks off back to the hallway she was heading toward earlier and disappears, leaving Stacie with a disproving hand on her hip as she shakes her head. “I’ve raised such a heathen,” she says, laughing lightly. “Beca is a bit of an outdoor cat, but you get used to it.”

Chloe nods, giving Stacie a weak smile, still too off-kilter to wrap her mind around anything. Truth be told, she’d be lying if she said Stacie’s playfulness about…well, just about everything isn’t the least bit unsettling. There is something behind those eyes too, now that she can see them up close. Something guarded and distrustful. It was said lightly, but Chloe has no doubt that either Beca or Stacie would kill her in a blink if she gives them enough reason to.

“You alright there, Red?” Stacie asks, grinning cheerily as if she’d just joined her sorority.

“Yeah, sorry,” Chloe says quickly. “Been a…a long night.”

“Yes, it has,” she says, nodding. Suddenly, she holds out her hand. “Oh, yeah, I’ll have to take your cellphone. GPS tracking and all that.”

Chloe isn’t about to argue. She reaches into her bra through the neck of her dress and pulls out her forgotten phone she’d turned off for Beca earlier, placing it on Stacie’s open palm. She tries not to think about her notifications, fearing she’ll fall apart at the thought of her old life.

But Stacie doesn’t move.

“And the other one,” she says with a raise of her brow.

“W-what?”

“Your other phone,” she repeats calmly.

“I don’t…”

“No bullshit, Chloe,” Stacie says, smiling despite the dangerous flash of her eyes. “Beca made it _very_ clear. No liars, thieves, or _rats_.”

Chloe holds her breath, then slowly reaches down below her dress, where she retrieves an old, flip phone strapped to her thigh. How the _hell_ did Stacie know?

Stacie tilts her head, her smile unwavering as she finally drops her arm, phones clutched tightly in her hand. “Now, what does sweet, little kindergarten teacher, Ms. Beale need a burner for?” She asks, tapping her chin with her free hand and practically purring like a cat with a mouse between its teeth.

“I…it’s just…for work,” Chloe replies, swallowing thickly.

“Your kids ringing you up at all hours of the day?” Stacie snickers. “You know, I’m gonna take these apart, right? We can’t help you if we can’t trust you, and right now…you’re not helping your case.”

Chloe bites her lip. “I’ll…tell you what I can. Just…don’t hurt me. Please. And please don’t tell Beca,” she rushes out all at once.

“Why not?”

Chloe frowns—she didn’t think this one through. But her mind conjured up the rare softness in Beca’s gaze. The way she spoke to her, as if she wanted to believe badly that she was innocent. That she’d made the right decision in saving her life. That despite not knowing Beca’s true motives, _she_ is a person worthy of saving. When none of these thoughts seem to fit in her mouth, she tells Stacie the sliver of the truth instead: “She’ll hurt me.”

Stacie looks skeptical, but does not press further. Instead, she says, “Oh, I told you. Beca is a huge softie. You should be way more scared of me—I don’t take kindly to those who hurt my family. I’ll find you in your room tonight—we’ll talk then. And you better talk, Red, or else—well, you know the rest.”

Chloe swallows once more and nods.

* * *

Beca walks into the kitchen, refreshed now with a crisp, clean black T-shirt and a casual pair of black jeans to match. Her stomach, however, is finally threatening to give up after a long night and more stress and activity than she’d signed up for.

At the breakfast nook, she finds Cynthia Rose with her cellphone in one hand and a breakfast sandwich in the other. She looks like the picture of peace, freshly slept-in as she always does when she gets the night off. To her left, Jessica is talking to Chloe as she’s buttering up a fresh scone. Chloe is wearing one of Jessica’s sweatshirts and a pair of sweats, and she looks right at home—minus the stiffness Beca noticed when she walked in.

Beca gives them a small nod, then heads for the fresh pot of coffee.

“Hey, girl,” Cynthia Rose greets.

“Hey,” Beca throws back. “How’s Cat?”

“Pretty good, pretty good. Just won a case yesterday. Elder abuse—awful shit. My girl fought hard, but they only gave the asshole two years. Still proud of her though.”

“I don’t know how she does it. I’d go insane,” Beca says, as she flips open the breadbox and frowns when she finds it empty. “Hey, Jess—”

Jessica answers the question before Beca can even turn around: “There’s a couple sandwiches for you in the oven. Just heated it up five minutes ago.”

“Sweet,” Beca says, craning her neck to peer into the convection oven as she pours her coffee. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Least I could do,” Jessica laughs.

“Anyway,” Beca says, glancing away from her sandwiches to give Cynthia Rose a small smile, “congratulations to Cat.”

“Thanks! I’ll let her know. She’s been wanting to see you guys again,” CR said, typing away on her phone. “Told her you guys are going through some things.”

“Yeah, that probably can’t happen for a while,” Jessica replies. “Chloe here was just telling me what a fun time you guys had last night. Everyone coming in and going out of this house will have to be careful.”

Cynthia Rose chuckles. “Yeah, social media is going nuts. But damn,” she blows out a breath, “a lotta kids are gonna sleep safer with Henry fucking Cole gone.” Beca walks over to the table and takes a seat across from Cynthia Rose with her mug of coffee and plate of sandwiches just as CR flashes Chloe a sympathetic smile. “Can’t be easy in your position, Chloe,” she says, “but damn, the Coles are bad dudes.”

Chloe nods slowly.

Beca sees her fingers still shaking slightly against the side of her mug and looks around for an empty plate, wondering if she at least had a chance to eat. Jessica catches her eye and gives her a smile as she hands Chloe the scone she’d been buttering. Beca looks away, but is undeniably relieved when Chloe accepts it with a quiet, “Thank you,” before taking a bite.

“You guys run into them a lot, CR?” Jessica asks.

“Oof, yeah,” Cynthia Rose exhales, running her hand through her shock of pink hair. “I mean, where do I even begin? They’re like the hydra. Y’know that myth? We crack down on one new drug, and up pops two more. They’re, like, _obsessed_ with addiction. Their rollie gig was devastating to watch, but once we get that off the street, those bastards just put out two more. Then we’re scrambling to chase _those_ down and clear _those_ out and it’s an endless goddamn cycle. Let me tell you—I can’t do what Beca and Stacie does, and I can’t say I always approve of it either, but you spend enough time out there with the kids, and you start seeing all the ways the law fails them. I don’t wanna say it’s the only way…or even the easiest way…but with guys like Cole? Sometimes you need a little divine justice in the form of badass chicks.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, mustering up her best smile. 

Cynthia Rose nods. “You did what you had to, girl. Oh shit, I just remembered, Jess—Lilly and I have that fundraiser thing tonight, so we’re going to miss out on your cooking.”

Jessica scoffs. “I feed you guys every day. Enjoy the fancy canapes while you can.”

“It’s a fancy fundraiser?” Beca asks, mid-chew.

“Ew, keep your mouth closed when you chew, girl!” Cynthia Rose exclaims, making a face. Beca flushes when she earns a laugh from both Jessica and Chloe, then ducks back down to her sandwich with a scowl. “But yeah, kinda fancy. Some tech asshole wants to donate to a bunch of organizations to prove their humanity, so we were invited to make our bid.”

“Cause you’re _so_ good at schmoozing,” Beca says, rolling her eyes. She sticks her tongue out at CR this time to show she’d properly swallowed her food, earning a playful kick from her friend from under the table.

“Whatever, man, I’ve got Lilly on my side.” Cynthia Rose turns to Chloe to explain. “Lilly’s a fucking _ninja_. Pops in outta nowhere and whispers at people and bam! Donations in our pockets. I don’t know if she hexes people or if it’s some mind-control shit—whatever it is, it works.”

“Lilly is…different,” Jessica supplies. “But mostly harmless. You’ll understand when you meet her.”

Chloe’s smile is still unwaveringly nervous. “That sounds…interesting.”

“Oh yeah, Beca,” Jessica says suddenly, “Stacie told me to tell you that she’s working on fixing those glasses.”

Beca groans into the rim of her mug. “Thank god. Whatever that green program is called…it’s fucking awful. Could’ve killed me, dude.”

Jessica nods. “I’ll run some diagnostics with her after I get dinner started.”

“Can you make the numbers go away?”

“Yeah, I think Stacie was thinking about integrating everything for ease of access.”

Beca squints. “Can you also secretly make it so that Stacie can’t take over controls whenever she wants?”

Jessica laughs, " _That_ would take a miracle to pull off."

Cynthia Rose snorts. “She still doing that thing you told me about? Where she zooms in on some rando’s ass when you least expect it?”

“Basically,” Beca grumbles. “She’s such a twelve-year-old boy when she wants to be.”

“You know what she needs?” Jessica grins, then—to collective groans—takes the opportunity to show off the shiny ring on her fourth finger. “Someone to whip her into shape.”

“Girl!” Cynthia Rose exclaims, “you think _Stacie_ is the marrying type?” Beca joins her in a healthy round of snickers, and notices Chloe begin to relax. She flashes her a small, hopefully comforting, smile, and is relieved to see Chloe smile back.

Beca continues to sip on her coffee when Jessica nudges Chloe and asks, “You believe in love right?”

Chloe looks taken aback, but manages a slightly broader smile. “O-Of course,” she says behind the scone she’s still nibbling on.

“Jess, ain’t nobody here is ever going to get as mushy, nasty, cheesy as you. _Least_ of all Stacie,” Cynthia Rose says emphatically. “You with me on this, Becs?”

“Sure,” Beca says blandly.

“I’m _telling_ you,” Jessica insists. “She’s just gotta find her match.”

Beca rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she’s still smiling, and she’s glad that after spending time with her weirdballs family, Chloe is too.

* * *

“This is the library,” Beca says, gesturing to the room on her right. She pauses as she takes in the way Chloe’s eyes brighten. “Do you…want to go inside?”

Vibrating with excitement, Chloe nods.

Beca motions her inside and hangs back to look for the light switch. “I don’t spend that much time in here,” she says, joining Chloe at the centre of the room, “but nobody’s complained about the stuff we have, I guess.” She almost laughs out loud at the look of pure awe on Chloe’s face as she tries to take everything in. Beca has always found this room a little stuffy. Serious. A little too…brown. There are massive shelves along the walls, along with four main shelves placed in each quadrant of the room. Two long couches, an odd table, an armchair, and a few out-of-place yellow beanbags decorate the rug in front of the stone fireplace. An old Christmas tree is stuffed beside the fireplace—nobody bothers taking it down anymore.

“Stacie’s about the only one who likes coming in here,” Beca explains. “Ashley comes in when she needs a quiet place to work. Especially during tax season, I guess. And sometimes I’ll nap on that couch.”

She points to one of the long couches—one with a thick maroon blanket draped over the back, and Chloe has to smile when she imagines how small Beca must look when she curls up on that couch.

Her smile widens even more when Beca says, “You can borrow whatever you want.”

“Wow,” she whispers, not quite knowing where to look first.

“Just remember to put things back. Stacie gets _really_ pissed when she can’t find something—you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that. CR brings books home sometimes when people donate stuff that kids don’t like. I think those are usually left on the table until someone decides to do something about it. Usually Stacie. But,” she gestures to the desk behind one of the long couches, piled high with books of varying shapes, sizes, and falling-apartness, “she barely has the time.”

In spite of everything, Chloe all but squeals at the possibilities before her.

For now, she takes a deep breath and tries not to get too far ahead of herself. “Can I…come back later? We can continue our tour now, if you want?”

Beca shrugs. “You don’t need my permission,” she says simply, “but yeah, we can continue.”

Chloe trails behind Beca, listening quietly as she tells her about the house. Her sentences are kept short, impersonal, and to the point, but there’s a love burning beneath every word that she strains her ear for. She takes her to west wing, where bedrooms filled the two floors. There’s a nice big balcony attached to the hallway, with a view over the pool and courtyard below and the lake further beyond. They pass a den, a comfy-looking home theatre, and a number of rooms that don’t seem to see much use.

They stop at one room filled to the ceiling with boxes when someone calls Beca’s name. Inside, a woman waving at the dust particles floating around grins widely at the two of them. She makes a move, eyes flickering between the barricade of boxes at her feet and her two new visitors, as if engaged in the world’s greatest dilemma. Instead, she settles for an apologetic smile and an enthusiastic, “Beca! And you must be Chloe!”

“Ash, what the hell are you doing?” Beca says, shaking her head with a small smile like she isn’t surprised at all to see her friend mired in junk.

“Oh, Jess is looking for an air fryer, and I was _pretty_ sure we had one in here,” Ashley replies, scratching her chin like a skeptic cartoon character. “Oh! I’m Ashley, by the way,” she says suddenly, waving once more at Chloe. Chloe notices the glint of her ring even in the dusty store room.

“Jessica’s wife,” Beca says, as if she read her mind. “And accountant-extraordinaire.”

Ashley chuckles. “Aw, shucks. I like being known as Jessica’s wife first and foremost. You met her, right, Chloe?”

“Yeah! She’s sweet. Lent me some clean clothes while I’m here, so I’m very grateful,” Chloe says politely.

Ashley beams like she’d told her that Jessica had solved world hunger. “Isn’t she the greatest?” she says, grinning. “If you need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask us. We’re always around. If we're not, just leave a sticky-note on the fridge."

“Ashley’s amazing at finding things,” Beca says. Chloe feels the hair on the back of her neck stand on end when she wonders if that’s a euphemism for something sinister. She can’t imagine someone like Ashley running big guns and explosives and whatever torture devices assassins use, but then again…in another life, she never would’ve guessed someone like Beca would be capable of killing in cold blood. Luckily, Beca elaborates: “Ashley found a really nice humidifier that fits perfectly in this corner of my room. Helps me sleep sometimes.”

“Oh, yes!” Ashley claps. “I think you can add scents to that one too. I’m pretty sure I saw some essential oils in here, but I might have to throw those out. Let me know if you want new ones?”

“Yes, please, if you come across any. Something floral maybe—not too strong. Orchids are nice.”

“Will do!”

Chloe glances between Beca and Ashley. Relief that Ashley doesn’t seem to be some kind of weapons smuggler quickly gives way to surprise. She wouldn’t have guessed that Beca likes flowery scents either—maybe she should just stop making assumptions about Beca altogether, she thinks.

“So, yeah, I can probably find most things that you need.”

“Ashley is also an amazing accountant,” Beca continues, “keeps us all alive even though we only bug her when we want to find things. We really take her for granted.”

Ashley chuckles, waving off Beca’s compliments with a sheepish grin. “Beca’s just being nice. I don’t do nearly as much as Jessica—she’s like everybody’s mom around here. I just watch over our money and make sure Stacie doesn’t blow through our living expenses with her gadgets. And our taxes are paid, of course. Oh my god, am I the dad in this scenario? I mean, in a traditional, cis-het metaphor kind of way."

"Yeah, no, I don't think so," Beca chuckles.

“Do…assassins pay taxes?” Chloe asks, tilting her head.

Ashley laughs heartily. “I’ll let Beca tell you about that one.”

“Aaaand I think that’s our cue to leave,” Beca says quickly, pivoting back into the hallway. “Good luck, Ash.”

Chloe follows Beca out, but tucks the question into the back of her mind. “Nice meeting you, Ashley,” she turns back with a smile.

“Yeah, see you around!”

She likes Jessica and Ashley, she thinks with a smile as she silently follows Beca back through the main building and toward the east wing. They’re adorable, clearly in love, and so open and generous. She likes Cynthia Rose too. Each woman is so different, yet each has a place carved out for them in this house. She can see why both Stacie and Beca are so protective of their family.

Chloe nearly runs into Beca when she stops, rattling the thoughts right out of her head.

“Are you listening?” Beca asks, tilting her head at her. She’s confused, but more concerned than angry, and Chloe smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry…long day, I guess.”

Beca nods. “I was just saying that you can do whatever you want with your own room,” she says as they walk into a brightly lit gym with state-of-the-art equipment and an absolutely breathtaking view of the lake through the massive bay windows. “Other rooms—keep it neat. We try to minimize traffic to the house, so there aren’t any cleaners—we all do our part. Be the grown-ass women we are and clean up after ourselves.” She grumbles the last part bitterly as she picks up a 45-pound dumbbell laying by the bench press by itself. She rolls her eyes when her phone rings, and proceeds to curl the dumbbell around her arm like it weighs nothing when she picks her phone out of her pocket to answer it.

Chloe watches the muscle below Beca’s short sleeves ripple beneath her skin. Her jaw drops open a little, and it takes a conscious effort for her brain to snap her mouth shut when Beca turns to her.

“Okay, okay,” she says into the phone. “Give me a sec. Some asshole left a dumbbell laying around. Yeah, I figured it was you. Who uses _one_ dumbbell?” She walks over to the rack of equipment and puts the dumbbell down next to its twin. Chloe feels a twinge of disappointment in her gut, and it’s about as hard to explain as the sudden desire to run her hands along Beca’s _very_ strong arm.

But Beca is standing by the bench press again before she realizes she’d been staring, and her face warms when Beca looks at her like she’d been trying to get her attention. “Seriously, you okay?” She asks.

Chloe nods maybe a little too eagerly.

Beca doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t push further. “Alright,” she says as she puts her phone down on the bench press. “Stacie needs to talk to us.”

“Hey, guys,” Stacie’s voice comes crackling through the phone’s gritty speakers. “Sorry about the bad sound quality, Chloe. Beca can’t really just go outside and buy a phone, so I put this one together myself. It’s not a bad start, right?”

“Less bragging, more business,” Beca interrupts.

“Chill out, Beca, I’m getting to it, _god_. You really need to fuck more often.”

“ _Stacie_.”

Chloe giggles when she watches the pink spread from Beca’s cheeks to the tips of her ears. She might still be scared of Stacie, but she can admit she likes how often she gets to see Beca’s flustered state when Stacie’s involved. The two are an unlikely duo, yet she can’t help but find their relationship rather charming. There’s a mundane quality to it in the way they bantered, one that revealed a complexity of layers. Layers that exuded trust and warmth, and something just so inexplicably _human_.

Which is what they are, she supposes. Humans capable of trust, warmth, and maybe even vulnerability underneath the rest. Beca flashes her a small, sheepish smile then, as if she can read her thoughts.

And _god_ , Beca makes it far too easy to forget that she shot three men dead without hesitation to save her life. Her stomach does a little flip. Why does this gorgeous woman have to be so damn confusing?

Chloe snaps out of her thoughts when Stacie’s laugh comes out tinny and distorted through the phone. “Glad I could make you laugh, Red. Enjoy it while you can,” she says, “because what I’m about to say next is no laughing matter.”

“Dramatic,” Beca mumbles.

Stacie goes on: “A new job just came in. Anonymous.”

“Okay,” Beca says, crossing her arms impatiently.

“Yeah, the only problem? It’s an open order.”

Beca narrows her eyes. “So…a bounty.”

“Yeah,” Stacie says, inhaling loudly. “Miss Chloe Beale, you’re officially a wanted woman.”

“Fuck,” Beca breathes, running a hand through her hair as she looks up at the ceiling. Chloe replays the words in her head, but none of them stick, so she stands there, staring dumbly at the phone. “How much?” Beca asks finally.

“A million. Dead or alive.”

“That fucker wasn’t even _worth_ a million,” Beca all but growls.

“He did to his brother,” Stacie replies calmly.

Chloe raises her eyes and watches Beca fume. Her world slows, starts moving around her like she’s in a fishbowl. Nothing makes sense. “What…what…” she begins to say. But her words leave her, and her knees quickly try to follow as she catches herself on the bench press.

“Alright,” Beca says, her voice tight with conviction. She’s glaring at the floor like she wants to punch a hole through it. “There’s only one thing we can do.”

“Let me follow up on some loose ends first,” Stacie says. “We’ll talk later.”

Chloe swallows as the world only seems to close in faster around her. She dimly hears her name at the far end of a long tunnel. It gets farther and farther away until everything around her is just dense, solid black.

Just before she loses consciousness, she thinks of the bounty on her head, a number she can’t comprehend for a crime she committed out of survival.

Then, she thinks of Beca, and how disappointed she’s going to be when she finds out that she’s a liar.

* * *

Beca is sitting on her bed, cleaning out the barrel of her pistol, when she hears a knock on her door.

It opens, and a blonde head pokes through the crack before she says anything. The irritation flaring up at the interruption instantly begins to cool when she hears, “Hey, grumpykins. Whatcha doin’ in here?”

“Hi Amy,” Beca greets back, shaking her head with a resigned smile. “What are _you_ doing here? Thought you were tied up at the cabaret this week?”

Amy—or Fat Amy, as she insists on being called sometimes—scrunches her nose and leans her elbow against Beca’s door frame. “Too much boy trouble in the city, honestly. I gotta stop juggling twelve dudes. Plus, Jess is a better cook than all the muscleheads combined.”

“No argument there,” Beca says. “Wanna talk about it?”

Amy smiles. “Nah, I already got kicked out of the kitchen by Jess earlier. Said my stories were too pornographic—like it’s a bad thing. I love my girls, but Ashley can have that one.”

“Hope you at least got a cookie out of it,” Beca says with a chuckle.

“You bet your skinny ass I did,” Amy says, finger guns pointing straight at Beca and the very real gun in her lap. “Oh, and speaking of lesbians—”

“What?”

“A little birdy tells me that a red-headed princess doth hath fallen from her tower and into your vagina,” Amy says, casually checking her nails.

Beca nearly chokes on her own spit. “ _Dude_! What—no! _No_! Who told you that?”

“Oh, I saw Jess being dodgey, so I bugged her about it. Where is she? Sleeping off that post-coital bliss?”

Beca frowns. “Dude, she, like, passed out a couple hours ago. She’s been through a lot, man. Have some respect,” she says, gesturing with the cloth in her hand. 

Amy smirks. “Always knew you like to play rough, Mitchell. I see you—I see your short fingernails and gay-ass ponytail.”

“Oh my god, it’s _not_ like that,” Beca groans. “For the record, I’m not going to run around shooting bad guys while wearing goddamn acrylics…and how is a ponytail gay?”

“I’m just teasing,” Amy says, snickering as she pushes herself off the doorframe and sits down next to Beca. “Seriously though, I don’t care how or why she’s here, you better get that ass before your nether-regions fall off and sue you for neglect.”

Beca rolls her eyes and returns to the task of cleaning her gun. “People need to seriously stop talking about my sex life,” she mutters.

“No way, everyone else is too predictable.” She holds out her hand and starts listing each item off with a finger. “Jess and Ashley—you already know who they’re banging—duh. CR, hot lawyer girlfriend in the city—boring. Lilly, either asexually reproduces or has a harem—obviously. Stacie hunts down anything that moves—meh. So, that leaves you, grumpykins. A cold-blooded killer, staring people in the eyes as you take their life just to _feel_ something; howling at the moon, waiting for love to come by to bring life back into your cold, dead heart. Ooh, the _drama_.”

“Do you seriously think that I just stand on rooftops and _howl at the moon_ for no reason?” Beca asks incredulously.

“Girl, I don’t care about your _job_. I care about _you._ Seriously, everyone who’s seen you together thinks you’re sweet on her. It’s been so long that I’m worried you might fry your processor trying to compute these emotions.”

“That is incredibly rude.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Fair,” Amy says, tilting her head and swinging her legs a little. “But I’m not entirely wrong, am I?”

“Not entirely right either,” Beca says with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess there’s something about her that I can’t explain. But something’s bugging me too…something she’s hiding. I just have a feeling.”

“You mean other than her massive boner for you? CR and Jess swear they saw it, so she’s clearly not doing a good job hiding it.”

“ _No_ , I mean I think she’s hiding something about why she was at some upper level gangster’s party with her _boyfriend_ and _leaving with him_.”

Amy raises a brow and draws a circle around Beca with an open palm. “Okay, I can tell by the weird way you’re speaking that you’re trying to imply something insane like the girl’s straight just because she left a party with a dude. But let me—a certified heterosexual—tell you to stop being so closed-minded. Even the straightest of women is known to dip into a ladypond once in a while.”

“That’s…really…not the main, _main_ point I was trying to make,” Beca grumbles.

“So…care to tell ol’ Fat Amy what’s _really_ bothering you, little one?” Amy says softly as she rubs a hand over the top of her hair. Beca has to shake her head a little when she looks down at the gun in her lap. The same gun she’d use to kill five people last night. And here is Amy, petting her head like she’s a kitten. These people really softened her too much over the years.

Beca shakes her head. “It’s just a guy we have to kill,” she says. “Maybe. Stacie says she might have a plan, but…I’d rather just kill him.”

Amy lifts a brow. “Well that’s not usually a problem for a killer like you.” Beca hates being called that, but Amy’s Australian accent rolls the ‘er’ into a soft ‘a’, and it’s almost charming when paired with her goofy smile. “What makes this this guy so special, eh?”

Beca blushes. She closes her eyes and groans, because she knows what Amy’s going to say. “He’s trying to kill Chloe,” she mumbles quickly, hoping she wouldn’t catch it.

“Whoomp, there it is,” Amy says, clapping a hand against Beca’s back. “It _always_ comes back to the little tingle between your legs, my friend.”

“What…does that even mean?”

Amy laughs, then reaches over and haphazardly tosses Beca’s pistol onto her bed. “It means we’re going to go downstairs and have some ice cream and you’re _finally_ going to watch some trashy TV with me because I don’t know about you, but I need a break from my drama, and clearly you do too. Then you can go back to worrying about Chloe, yeah?”

Beca pretends to consider this, but she knows the battle is lost the moment she mentions ice cream. “We’re not going to watch _90 Day Fiancé_ , are we?”

Amy pulls her up to her feet, grinning widely. “Oh, we are _absolutely_ watching that. Only the best programming for our Beca.” 

* * *

When Chloe comes to, she is tucked in bed, her limbs stiff from her deep, dreamless sleep. She looks around blearily, and sees a bowl of soup on a silver tray on her bedside table. Everything is unfamiliar.

Until all at once it isn’t.

She’s thankful, she thinks as her head hits the soft pillow once more, that sleep had mercy on her. No gunshots, no looping images of Henry’s lifeless body slumping against her. No Stacie putting the fear of God in her, or whatever she was going to do tonight.

“You’re awake.”

The voice sends her heart hurtling right into the wall beside her. Chloe sits up, flinching back the sudden spike of a headache caused by her sudden movement.

“You shouldn’t move too much.”

The bedside lamp suddenly turns on, and a warm light pours out—Chloe squeezes her eyes shut, blinking them open slowly to adjust to the light. Beca is standing by her end table in a fluffy grey robe, one hand still resting on the handle of the tray.

“How long have I been asleep?” Chloe says hoarsely.

“Like, twelve hours?” Beca shrugs. “I think you needed it. How are you feeling?”

Chloe gives her a small half-smile. “I don’t think it’s caught up to me yet.”

“Yeah…that’s fair.” Beca nods slowly. “Um, Stacie said that she wanted to talk to you. Do you…want me to get her?”

Chloe winces a little—she’d feebly hoped that Stacie had forgotten. “Yeah,” she says, dragging out the syllable as she contemplated her options. “Can you…just do me a favour?”

Beca raises a brow. “That depends.”

Chloe takes a deep breath and remembers that Beca is going to find out the truth eventually. Still, she looks at her hands, unable to meet Beca’s eyes. “Can you stay with me? After you get Stacie?”

“Sure,” Beca says with a lopsided smile that makes her heart ache a little, “I can’t guarantee that I can protect you from her though. Don’t ever tell her I said this, but I really don’t think I can beat her in a fistfight. Her monkey arms and giraffe legs and all.”

Chloe smiles at that, and her stomach flutters a bit. She can’t tell if it’s because Beca cares enough to make a joke, or the fact that Stacie might very well want to kill her.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get more than five minutes to contemplate her existential crisis.

Stacie shows up in a tank top beneath a chunky sweater and cotton pajama bottoms. She looks different in a way that assuages her fears a little, but Chloe still swallows. Maybe it’s an illusion—just the way her hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, or the pair of thick-rimmed glasses on her nose. Maybe her deep sleep had completely messed up her senses, interpreting Stacie’s edges a lot differently than she did that morning. In one hand, Stacie is holding Chloe’s two phones, and in the other she’s balancing a small laptop. She takes a seat at the foot of the bed, while Beca stands, arms crossed as she leans against the closed door.

“I didn’t expect Beca to be here,” Stacie says with a small smile. “But I’m glad she is. I took the liberty of telling her not to say anything, since I’m sure you’ll want to explain.” She looks back at Beca, who simply stares back. “She’ll be good.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“I’m expecting you to come clean regardless,” Stacie says matter-of-factly. “Beca and I made it clear—no liars, thieves, or rats. I don’t _want_ to think that you’re one or a combination of these three things, but…we both agree that there’s something…unusual about you and your whole situation with Cole. We asked you whether you were working for Cole or against Cole.”

“And I told you neither when we were in the car,” Chloe adds dejectedly.

Stacie nods. “Yeah. You did. And then you show up at our house with a burner phone you tried to hide from me.” Beca’s brows shoot up, and she uncrosses her arms. Stacie turns to give her a look before Chloe can say anything, and continues to speak. “I did a little digging, Chloe, and I wouldn’t recommend any bullshit. Still, I want to hear your story from your own lips—I think you owe us that much. If your version of events doesn’t line up with what I know…I’m afraid you’ll leave us no choice.”

Beca is glaring at the floor, not looking at her, one hand gripping the fabric of her sleeve tightly.

Stacie watches her patiently. Like she’s waiting to pounce.

Chloe’s heart thunders.

* * *

Aubrey Posen paces around the small square of her bedroom. Something feels off. Very, very off. Nothing has felt right in weeks, but something in particular is making the hair on the back of her neck rise. Her gut twists and knots every time she glances back at the two silent cell phones on her desk.

She recounts the events of the last week step-by-step, catching every mistake and spiralling them down the endless slide of her frantic mind. One massive mistake after another. It’s been her pattern since... she closes her eyes, forces the memories out. The only thing she knows for sure, Aubrey thinks as she stops at the window, is that it should’ve been her.

Goddammit, it should’ve been her. 

Not Chloe.

She sighs deeply as she looks up at the moonless sky. She’s never going to forgive herself if something happened to Chloe. All of these mistakes were hers to make—Chloe doesn’t deserve to be caught in all this.

When she blinks, her memory takes her back to the last time Chloe stood here, red-faced and adamant. She was wearing Aubrey’s top, she remembers—a white blouse she really liked.

“Why can’t you just trust me?” She had said, her voice nearly shaking with fury. She’d never seen Chloe like that—so angry and hurt.

“I do,” Aubrey had whispered. “But there has to be another way.” I do, she’d meant to say, but I can’t let you get hurt. I can’t lose you too, her ego didn’t let her say.

It was barely a fight, but Chloe had stormed out. She remembers relenting, just to get her back into the house. There were so many points in which Aubrey could’ve said something, done something—anything at all to alter the course of history.

Instead, she’s here. Alone with nothing but thoughts and regrets.

Aubrey chews her lower lip as her eyes sweep around the room. A sudden chill comes over her, and she shivers.

“C’mon, Chlo,” she whispers at the cell phones sitting silently on her desk. “Where the hell are you?”

And then it happens—her personal phone rings, and Aubrey feels her heart leap out of her chest. She stumbles over, hits her knee on the table leg, and grabs the phone, ignoring the sting.

Chloe’s name flashes, accompanied by a picture they’d taken a few weeks ago—in a different lifetime. Chloe has her arm around Aubrey, and she’s holding up a giant ice cream cone looking like the happiest girl in the world.

Aubrey hesitates, the sinking, foreboding feeling in her stomach back in full force. Chloe wasn’t supposed to call her at this number. She takes a deep breath and presses the green button.

“Who are you?” She barks into the phone with more calm than she feels.

The voice on the other side laughs. It’s a feminine laugh, light and airy, but it sure as hell isn’t Chloe’s. Aubrey springs to the open laptop she’d left on her bed and quickly attempts to track Chloe’s phone.

“Aggressive,” the woman replies, her voice dropping to a purr, “I like it.”

Aubrey narrows her eyes. “I’ll ask again—who are you?”

“Oh, we’ll have _plenty_ of time to get to know each other, Ms. Posen. In the meantime, don’t worry about Chloe and don’t bother tracking this phone—I’ve got it pinging off in Azerbaijan. A car will pick you up in one hour’s time. Bring everything you have on your man. Toodles.”

That’s it.

That’s _it_?

Aubrey’s fingers freeze over her keyboard—she hasn’t even typed in her password.

“ _Toodles_?” she cries in exasperation.

She looks at her phone. The call was recorded, but she doesn’t recognize the voice. She replays it several more times.

It doesn’t help.

She swears softly under her breath. “You better be okay, Chloe,” she murmurs.

An hour later, Aubrey watches a black car pull up to her street. She takes a deep breath, then tugs the handle of her suitcase upwards.

Fear bobs in her throat, but Chloe is all she has left, and she’s going to get her back even if she has to walk right into the lion’s den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the awesome day one responses! As a treat for all the nice people who commented and left me a kudo, I decided to release the next chapter right away. I hope you enjoyed meeting the gang. As much as I love romantic tension, I also love me some supportive friendships. Going into writing for PP, one of the things I worried about the most was writing distinct voices for such a big cast of pretty archetypal characters, but hopefully I will continue to do these girls justice. The beauty of fic is allowing interpretations to grow, right? 
> 
> The next chapter likely won't go up until next weekend. Until then, I hope everyone has a lovely Halloween and a healthy work week! As always, all your love is appreciated! 
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns--I'm pretty good at responding in the comments, and you can always find me on Twitter @fireroastedmoo.
> 
> PS. I've updated the number of chapters to 10, but this is an approximation. I currently have 5 complete chapters written up (in various stages of the editing process), so this might change.


	3. The Reunion

“This is fucking crazy,” Beca says with her head in her hands. “I feel like I haven’t even…processed all of this yet. Why are we doing this, Stace?”

Stacie stops her pacing around centre of the foyer. She’s been tracing her steps around the edges of the rug there for the past half hour, anxiously trying to burn off the excited energy. She shoots a glare at Beca sitting on the steps with Chloe beside her. “I _told_ you, Beca. You can’t just charge in with guns ablazing with a guy like George Cole. We need a plan to even _find_ this guy. To form a plan, we need _her_.”

Beca rubs a hand over her sleep-deprived face. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but you’re like the _smartest_ person I know. What can this random…woman…do that you can’t?”

Beca tenses for a moment when she feels the pressure of a hand on her forearm, and the heat radiates warmly even through the thick material of her robe. She relaxes a little when she looks up and bluer than blue eyes settle on hers like everything is going to be alright. It takes more effort than she cares to admit to remember that Chloe may not be an immediate threat, but she’s still a liar. She pulls her arm back. “Stacie’s right,” Chloe says softly. Beca looks away when hurt flashes across the redhead’s face. “Nobody knows the Cole family better than Aubrey.”

“And she’s going to do whatever it takes to take Cole down,” Stacie says with a manic grin. “Everything she cares about in this world is on the line.”

“Why do you look so excited about that?” Beca asks with a sigh.

But Stacie has that indomitable glint in her eyes, and Beca senses she knows where this is going. “You didn’t hear her on the phone, Baby Bird,” she says, her smile unsettlingly growing wider. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to be _mine_ and we are going to have _so_ much fun.” She strikes a pose to go with her conviction, and Chloe laughs.

“Yikes,” Beca says, cringing. Chloe giggles quietly beside her, and somehow, she feels the need to apologize even though she isn’t the one who _lied_. “I’m sorry about her,” she mumbles. “She’s not usually such a pig.”

“Oh, it’s totes okay,” Chloe says, resting her chin in her hand with a smile. She doesn’t meet Beca’s eyes, and Beca doesn’t blame her. “I wouldn’t underestimate Aubrey.”

Beca says nothing as she watched Stacie resume her pacing. Stacie glances at the door several times, like a dog awaiting their master. “Right.”

* * *

Stacie Conrad is…very annoying, Aubrey decides as she sips her tea. But something about her is awfully familiar, and it peeves her not to be able to pin it down.

After a very long blindfolded drive with a thankfully minimally chatty driver named Jessica, Aubrey met Chloe in a tearful hug and a mess of apologies. Their heartfelt reunion was very quickly interrupted, however, by Stacie and…the little, angry-looking one in the robe whom she can’t remember the name of for the life of her. It takes all of two seconds to connect Stacie with the woman on the phone—two seconds being the amount of time it took for Stacie to sexually harass her in front of everyone.

It’s distasteful, and Aubrey immediately dislikes her.

Despite the weirdness of this whole situation, all that stood out to her is the immense relief of seeing that Chloe was okay. Mostly unharmed except the whole witness protection thing by a group of strange women. Whatever else comes their way, she’ll pull them both through. She has to, after everything she’s put Chloe through.

But that was fifteen minutes ago, and she’s since run the full gamut of emotions from relieved to confused to _pissed_. Luckily, Chloe must’ve felt it too when she thrust a cup of tea into her hands and laid her head on her shoulder in a comforting half-hug.

In the den, Stacie is seated across from them, one long leg crossed over the other. Aubrey’s attention was snagged when she made the motion and she isn’t proud of it. Worse, she’s sure her momentary lapse did not go unnoticed when Stacie’s permanent smile turns almost predatory. Stacie has her own mug of tea on the table between them and is smirking as she makes a show of raking her eyes over her.

It’s annoying and she should be disgusted, but it isn’t nearly as unnerving as the little one standing in the corner with a knife poking out of her robe and a scowl.

Aubrey sits a little straighter—she isn’t going to let these people intimidate her.

“Aubrey Posen,” Stacie says, her name curling around this woman’s tongue like something between a blessing and a curse. Aubrey glares for good measure. “You have an impressive resume. Air Force, FBI, top of the class in everything.” Stacie whistles. “Daddy issues will do that to a girl,” she laughs breezily.

God, she’s so arrogant and so _annoying_ , Aubrey thinks again, her grip tightening around her mug. But she doesn’t forget the possible danger. These people—whoever they were; whatever they wanted—don’t follow the rules of the law, thus were capable of anything. From the corner of her eye, she sees the little one studying her, and in her experience, the dangerous ones are almost always the quiet ones.

“Now, how on earth does an ambitious little goody-two-shoes like you end up at the local police?” Stacie muses, pausing for theatrics. “More interestingly…how does a decorated agent like yourself get yourself suspended while playing around in the little leagues?”

Aubrey can feel Chloe’s eyes on her, and she grits her teeth, temper flaring. “How _dare_ you talk to me like you know me? Based on what? Information any imbecile with a basic computer can figure out? Please.”

Stacie looks taken aback for a moment—and Aubrey takes the win. But the smirk returns once the moment passes, and she leans in like a hunter locked in on her prey. “Oh, I like you, Miss Posen. I like you _very_ much. I can tell already that we’re going to work _beautifully_ together.”

Aubrey turns to Chloe. Can you believe this woman? Her expression says. Unexpectedly, Chloe only looks amused as she returns Aubrey’s look with a shrug of a shoulder.

“Lucky for you, I’m not your average imbecile,” Stacie continues. “I just didn’t think you wanted me to share with the class that you fell from grace when you accidentally leaked classified information to a Russian spy. She’s a major hottie, by the way. Good to know you’ve already developed a taste for beautiful, leggy brunettes,” she winks, and Aubrey’s entire face burns and wow, she _really_ wants to leap over this table and strangle Stacie. “But the only thing _we_ are interested in at the moment is the case that got you suspended. The case you’ve secretly been building against Cole.”

At this, the little one nods.

“Who told you?” she says, narrowing her eyes at Stacie.

Chloe snakes away, her eyes cast down at the carpet in shame. “I’m sorry, Bree. I had to.”

Aubrey glares at Stacie. “What did you do to her?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Stacie laughs. “I can be very persuasive in a way that benefits _all_ parties. We’re friends, aren’t we, Chloe?” She adds with a wink. “I mean, after the night we had together.”

“Dude,” the little one says, rolling her eyes.

“Chill, Beca,” Stacie says, craning her neck to look at her companion, “It’s called a joke.”

“I know! Just…get to the point.”

Aubrey glances between Beca and Stacie, then back at Beca and the sheepish look she throws in Chloe’s direction when her words trail off. Interesting. Beside her, Chloe wears a small smile. Again, it’s surprisingly unrestrained given the circumstances. Aubrey starts to wonder if these women had put something in her food after all.

“Sorry about this little gremlin,” Stacie says, throwing a thumb behind her at Beca. “She’s bad with feelings, and hates my brand of humour. What I _mean_ is that we’re all on the same side.”

Beca clears her throat. “There’s a bounty on Chloe—a million flat,” she explains. “She’s not going to be safe unless George Cole is dead or in jail. Preferably dead.”

“Given the timeline of events, the reports you handed over to your boss after your suspension is likely the reason the feds were at Henry’s party,” Stacie says, nodding. “I don’t know if they suspected you or expected Chloe to be there, but I’m pretty sure they _were_ there to protect Henry, in a roundabout way. Hence all the heat we got last night.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t supposed to be open season,” Beca grumbles, leaning back against her corner.

“What you’re saying is,” Aubrey says slowly, “you think Cole paid off cops to use _my_ case to his advantage?”

“Hence your suspension,” Stacie says with a flick of her wrist.

“Wait, hold on—back up,” Aubrey says holding up her hands. “Who the hell are you people and where are you getting all of this information?”

Stacie smiles with exaggerated sweetness. “We’re ladies of justice, just like you. Even if our methods may not be so…by the book.”

“Uh huh,” Aubrey says slowly, “Yeah, I gathered your whole lawless vigilante schtick. You were sent to kill Cole, I’m assuming. By whom? Who do you work for?”

Stacie laughs. “Of course we were. You sure know how to turn the tables, Ms. Posen. You’re a tough cookie, aren’t you?” She says, thoroughly amused be the dirty looks Aubrey sends her way. She leans forward, resting her chin on the back of her hand to add, “You are just too adorable. Especially the way you’re focusing on all the wrong details.”

“You--!” Aubrey scowls, anger building. “You’ve basically just confessed to being an accessory to at _least_ one murder. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you two right here.”

“Darling, you can’t,” Stacie grins. “You’re suspended, and you have no grounds. But I’m sure we can think of a few good uses with a good pair of handcuffs.”

“You are infuriating,” Aubrey mutters through gritted teeth.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Stacie says with a wink.

Chloe tugs Aubrey back when she shoots forward in full fight mode, the mug in her hand sloshing drops of hot tea onto the carpet. Beca moves from her place as well, brandishing her knife as a warning. Stacie, however, simply smiles on.

“What do you want?” She growls.

“Are you always so prickly, Ms. Posen?” Stacie says. She tilts her head, studying her in a way that makes Aubrey want to crawl out of her own skin. “We’re just kind-hearted souls wanting to help.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this _fun_ for you?” Aubrey puts her mug down on the table, if only to prevent the rage boiling inside from hurling it at Stacie’s head. 

“Bree, calm down,” Chloe pleas, rubbing her back with a palm. “They really do just want to help. They saved me, remember?”

“Chloe, don’t be naïve,” she says with more force than necessary. Her heart drops when Chloe flinches back into her own space, but this is too important for niceties, she thinks as she squares her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but—it just doesn’t add up.” She levels a distrusting glare at Stacie. “You, a group of assassins or whatever you want to call yourselves, save my best friend’s life, threatens and essentially abducts me because you need my help killing the man I’ve been trying to put behind bars for _six months_. And you’re telling me you’re just doing this because…you want to? Yeah, forgive me if I have a bit of difficulty buying into your ‘kind-hearted soul’ bullshit.”

“You still don’t get it, so I’ll translate for you,” Stacie says with a shrug. She uncrosses her legs, and her obnoxious easy-going smile transforms into something bordering on sinister. “ _You_ fucked up by putting an inexperienced officer—a _desk jockey_ , might I add—into the field _without_ permission, paid some second-rate hacker to break into federal records to rewrite her life— _and_ got her caught in a gunfight that resulted in an APB and a bounty for a crime she committed to save her own life. _We_ are volunteering to offer you safe haven _and_ help clean up the mess because our soft-hearted Beca,” she gestures, presenting the woman in the back like a prize, “can’t stand the thought of seeing a fair damsel killed, jailed, or sad. Plus, Chloe stole _our_ kill and lost us the other half of our paycheck, and we’ve got mouths to feed here. Who’s to say we won’t cash in on the pretty redhead ourselves?”

“You wouldn’t,” Aubrey whispers in shock.

“Who’s to say?” Stacie says with a triumphant grin and a little stretch, clearly pleased as she plays her winning hand. “Either way, you’ve got everything to lose if you don’t help us find Cole.”

Aubrey is stunned. No one was ever supposed to know about Chloe’s involvement. Not even her superiors knew. She made sure of that. “How did you…”

“I see everything, Ms. Posen,” Stacie says, chuckling. “You’re thorough, but not thorough enough.” She waits for a comeback, but Aubrey is still speechless as her heart rings loudly in her ears.

“If you’re wondering, you messed up Chloe’s alma mater,” Stacie continues, “Barden University didn’t start their early childhood education program until two years after Chloe supposedly ‘graduated’. That’s not your fault—you hired some mid-level hacker because you’re too paranoid to have the know-how to do it yourself. Next time, I suggest someone more detail-oriented. I might even throw my own hat into the ring, for some extra _special_ kind of payment,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Still, I’ll admit you’re clever, Aubrey—I’ll give you that—and either reckless, brave, or both,” she says as she leans back, resting her elbows on the back of her love seat.

Aubrey exhales. “Yes,” she says, squeezing her hands into white-knuckled fists on her thighs, “I’m not proud of the decisions I made. Especially not those that put Chloe in danger. I can admit that, even though I don’t like hearing it from lawless vigilantes like yourself.”

“Good. I mean, you’ve basically cost her her job _and_ almost her life,” Stacie says breezily. “Yet _we’re_ the ones doing something about it.”

Aubrey flinches.

“Dude,” the little one—Beca—unexpectedly pipes in. “Not cool.”

Stacie hums. She seems to consider Aubrey for a long moment, and Aubrey scowls at how easily she’s giving her hurt away. “Sorry—too far,” Stacie says, her voice surprisingly soft, and Aubrey wants to curl up in it at the same time that she wants to punch her in the throat because _how dare this woman pity her right now_?

There’s an awkward heaviness in the air where Aubrey can only glare down at her hands. Not for the first time in her life, her world seems to have fallen apart right at her feet. Every choice, every decision, every door seems laden with poison. Everything she put her faith into seem to mire her in mess after mess. And god, she absolutely _loathes_ that Stacie is right—she’d gotten Chloe involved.

Poor, sweet Chloe had a perfectly comfortable life and job at the precinct. At least she was safe. At least she could, just days ago, walk down a street for a cup of coffee without worrying someone was going to shoot her in the back for a million dollars. And now—

“Bree,” Chloe says quietly, pulling her out of her out of tangled web of thoughts—Aubrey turns to meet those familiar, hopeful blue eyes, and is surprised to see them still smiling. “You…you could be right. I could just be naïve, but…I think these girls are…not bad people. I mean, they saved me and brought you to me. Benefit of the doubt, remember?”

She hesitates, then takes a breath to bring her anger back down to a slow simmer. “Fine,” Aubrey says, directing her gaze at Stacie. Stacie stares back, and there’s an invisible war waging between them. Aubrey leans forward, ready to throw the first punch if it comes down to it. In spite of all this, she refuses— _refuses—_ to back down even at her most vulnerable. Stacie grins and blows a her a kiss. Aubrey glares—she can almost feel a vein pop through her forehead. “I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Chloe is safe. But if we’re going to be working together, I _expect_ you to keep it in your pants. I don’t know what your end game is, but whatever _this_ is”—she pauses, drawing a tight circle in Stacie’s direction with an open palm— “it’s not gonna work for me.”

Stacie’s arrogance wavers only for a moment when she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She sits up, rolls her shoulders back, and unexpectedly flounders. Interesting, Aubrey thinks. The woman clearly thrives on being on top, but—Aubrey’s lips curl into a smirk—she’s _definitely_ not as impenetrable as she wants others to believe.

“Alright then,” Stacie mutters, clearing her throat. She sucks the inside of her cheek and narrows her eyes. “Challenge accepted.”

* * *

Stacie and Aubrey head to the lab, stringing Jessica along to make sure they don’t kill each other.

Finally, Chloe finds herself alone with Beca for the first time since she woke up. Beca is still standing in her corner with her arms crossed, shifting uncomfortably with her gaze at her feet. Chloe, still seated on the loveseat, taps her fingers against her knee as she looks for the words to say to bring the little spark of trust back into Beca’s eyes.

There’s an invisible force that she can’t explain, something begging for understanding. Chloe isn’t a liar, not naturally, and the idea of Beca hating her for it squeezes her stomach tightly. Beca has to know saving her wasn’t a mistake. She has to know that she may be ordinary in the grand scheme of things, despite being a murderer, but she isn’t a liar.

“Can we talk?” Chloe asks, with a level of calm she certainly doesn’t feel.

Beca glances at her. She doesn’t say anything, nor does she make a move to leave.

“Okay, um…you don’t have to say anything, but…I hope you’ll listen?” Chloe clears her throat when the pleading tone unexpectedly shoulders through. Still, Beca doesn’t move, and suddenly, Chloe can’t stand the unsurmountable distance growing between them. She stands up and walks over to Beca before she loses her nerve, and even though Beca shoots her a look that warns her to stay back, Chloe surprises them both by engulfing her in a hug. More surprising still, Beca is tense, but does not push her away or deliver the swift kick in the stomach Chloe expected. “I’m sorry I wasn’t completely honest,” Chloe says softly. “After you went out of your way to save my life and everything. I was scared—I didn’t know what was happening, and…and I guess…I didn’t think anyone would find out what we were doing. I…really hope we can still be friends?”

“Why did you even do it?” Beca sighs eventually, and Chloe shivers a little when her breath hits the slope of her neck. She drops her arms and takes a step back, but isn’t prepared for the emotion swimming in Beca’s dark blues when she looks up at her.

“Uh,” Chloe says eloquently as she glances down at Beca’s lips. It takes all of her strength to mentally pull herself back and give herself a good shake and refocus. “I’m sorry, I…I wasn’t sure what you guys were going to do to me, and—”

“I don’t care about the burner. I mean, I care that you’re not who you said you are, but…I meant going after Henry,” Beca says, looking away with flushed cheeks. “It was stupid. And dangerous.”

“Oh. Um, it’s hard to explain,” Chloe says with a sheepish smile. “I’ve known Aubrey for a long time, and I’ve always admired her. She’s done so many things, and I…well, I barely got into the police academy and barely got out. I guess…I thought I was doing the right thing. When they fired her from the FBI…it broke her. She’s…the only family I have now, and it was…hard. To watch.”

Beca nods, listening intensely. Chloe nibbles her lower lip, wishing she can see the cogs turn and see what she’s thinking. Beca tilts her head, and she takes that as her cue to push on. 

“When she found work again in the police force, it obviously wasn’t ideal. Her dad was, like, a general or someone really high up there, and even after he passed, she’s still constantly trying to prove herself to his…ghost or something. So…I guess when the Cole case landed on her desk, she just…got really _obsessed_ , you know? She thought if she could put Cole behind bars it might…bring her back to the top, maybe?”

“But it didn’t,” Beca mumbles.

Chloe shakes her head. “No, and it got her suspended, but she…she was still convinced. And I…wanted to help.”

“Why couldn’t she go on her own? She’s a trained agent. A good one from what Stacie gathered.”

“Cole knows there’s a detective building a case against him…it was just too risky. Believe me, she probably would’ve preferred to do everything on her own, but I insisted.” Chloe shrugs. “I technically did graduate from the academy, even if I’m…mostly the coffee girl nobody takes seriously. I guess I just thought…I didn’t have a whole lot to lose. Bree’s got so much she still has to accomplish. Even if she didn’t eventually give in, I would’ve done it behind her back.”

Beca rubs a hand down her face and sighs. “That’s…”

“You would do the same for Stacie,” Chloe says with a tentative half-smile. “Or any of the girls here, I’m sure.”

Beca scoffs. “You got me there,” she says, shaking her head. Finally, she uncrosses her arms and takes a step toward Chloe and touches her elbow. “But I’m actually equipped to take Henry out. You…it was stupid. And you shouldn’t sell yourself short. Your life is worth more than you think.” She blushes when Chloe’s gaze softens, and hastily adds, “Aubrey wouldn’t want to see you get hurt either.”

“Yeah,” Chloe whispers. “Thank you, Beca…for everything, really.”

“It’s fine, just…don’t lie to me anymore.”

And maybe it’s the furtive glances and the quietly pleading tone—there’s so much Chloe can’t explain, so much she’s scared to even though she recognizes the way her heart tugs her toward Beca. She goes to wrap her arms around Beca in another hug, but the smaller woman presses a palm against her shoulder gently—it’s not a rejection, Chloe realizes when Beca looks away with burning cheeks, but a warning. “Too close,” Beca mumbles.

Chloe is reminded of a cat who needs to sniff your hand a few more times before you can pet it. She smiles, and raises both hands. “Sorry,” she says. “And I swear, no more lies.”

Beca nods, satisfied. “Tomorrow morning,” Beca says, dropping her hands to shove them into the pockets of her robe. “We’ll begin your training. Whatever happens, it’s probably going to be dangerous. And you’re gonna need to protect yourself.”

* * *

Jessica is putting a generous platter of bread and garlic butter next to two steaming bowls of stew on a silver tray when a voice clears behind her. She glances over her shoulder, and smiles. “Hey, Chloe,” she greets as slides a small stack of napkins beneath the bread. “Can I help you with something?”

“No,” Chloe says quietly. “I guess, I just…don’t really know what to do with myself right now. Everyone is busy, and I’m not sure what to do?”

Jessica turns to study her for a moment. “Are you alright, sweetie?” she asks gently.

Chloe looks surprised, but she shakes her head. “Yes. Just tired. It’s been a very…unusual two days.”

Jessica chuckles. “I can only imagine. Would you like a cookie? I noticed you didn’t eat very much at lunch today.”

“No,” Chloe says, “but thank you.” She chews her lower lip in thought, and Jessica waits patiently as she completes the lunch tray with a bundle of utensils. Finally, she asks the question, and her voice is timid, nervous, but different from the nerves she carried into the house yesterday morning. “Did, um, Beca get a chance to eat?”

“Oh, don’t worry about Beca,” Jessica says, hiding her grin as she pretends to fuss around with the tray. “One thing you learn to get used to is that everyone here sleeps and eats almost at all hours. Beca doesn’t sleep well, as you can imagine, so she tends to nap whenever she can. She knows where to find leftovers if I’m not around. You’d be surprised how much that little one eats sometimes, so there’s always food in the fridge. _Always_.”

“Are you, like, their personal chef, or something?” Chloe asks. Jessica sets the tray aside now to pull out a pitcher from the cupboard and a cutting board with a knife. Chloe leans with her elbows on the kitchen island, watching her.

“Kinda,” Jessica says. “I do pretty much whatever needs to be done. I guess I’m kind of a butler who also helps with science experiments.” She taps on her chin. “I think that makes me Alfred, actually.”

“Does that mean Beca is Batman?” Chloe asks with a lop-sided smile.

Jessica laughs at this as she takes out a couple oranges from the fruit bowl at the center of the island. “Batman, maybe, but billionaire playgirl she is not. That girl is denser than a black hole when she wants to be.”

“I guess I can see that,” Chloe says, nodding. “You know…Aubrey says I’m naïve, and I guess you’d be biased, but…am I wrong to think she and Stacie are both…pretty nice people?”

“Not at all,” Jessica laughs, “but I suppose it’s easy to misunderstand given the nature of their work. We’re conditioned to believe that murder is bad—it disrupts our social contract and deprives a life the opportunity to touch other lives. In a positive way, of course—so we assume as a collective.”

“Um…yeah, something like that, I guess,” Chloe murmurs, furrowing her brow as she attempts to parse out every part of Jessica’s casually tossed out philosophy. “You sound like you think about this a lot?”

“Mmm, probably a lot less than what you might think,” Jessica replies without looking up from the oranges she is slicing. “I just talk about it a lot with Beca and Stacie. Because you’re right, Chloe. They are nice people. They just…don’t see the world in a very nice way, I guess, and it’s hard to break a lifelong habit of questioning their place in this world and their own humanity.”

“Oh.”

Jessica pauses. “I’m telling you this because I think Beca has taken a liking to you, and I don’t want you to think that’s in any way easy for someone like Beca. She’s very sensitive, even if she’d probably beat me up if she heard me telling you that.”

“I believe you,” Chloe says, resting her cheek in one hand with her elbow on the counter. Her voice is soft, like she’s far away struggling to anchor her words to reality. “I think…I’ve seen it. That sensitive side.”

Jessica doesn’t hide her smile. “You probably have.”

Chloe drops her hand and fiddles a little with the extra orange on the counter. “Can I ask you another question?”

Jessica meets Chloe’s curiosity with kind eyes and a bright smile. “Shoot.”

“Well, I met Ashley yesterday, and she was really nice. I asked her whether assassin’s pay taxes, but she kind of avoided the question, and Beca pulled me away. I guess I’m still curious, but I totes understand if it’s not something you can talk about,” Chloe adds quickly.

“Ah, that’s a pretty good question,” Jessica says, chuckling. “And I think one you will have to ask Beca yourself, so she can tell you when she’s ready. What I _can_ tell you is that this house and everything you see in it, including myself and Ashley, aren’t paid for by Beca and Stacie’s night job.”

Chloe’s brows shoot up—that wasn’t what Stacie told Aubrey this morning.

“This estate was passed down to Stacie from her late grandmother, but it’s a bit of a sensitive topic, so I wouldn’t bring it up. The girls chip in for the monthly expenses as much as they can, but Stacie’s day job and Ashley’s investments actually takes care of most of it.”

“Stacie has a day job?” Chloe asks incredulously.

“Yes,” Jessica says, flashing a mischievous grin. “But she’ll kill me if I told you more than that.”

“Wow. Where does she find the time to sleep?”

“Oh.” Jessica’s smile dims. “In that department, she’s a lot worst off than Beca.”

“Insomniac?”

“Yeah. Don’t let that easygoing smile fool you. That woman does _not_ know how to relax.”

Chloe laughs lightly. “I think I know the type. Aubrey is the same way.”

“Yeah? I only met Aubrey briefly a couple of times. She wasn’t too talkative in the car, and she was…pretty angry earlier, to say the least, but it’ll do Stacie some good to spend time with someone who isn’t one of us. Or, y’know, someone who isn’t afraid to fight her.” Jessica fills the pitcher with her freshly sliced oranges, then halves two more to squeeze the juice in.

“How long have you known Stacie?” Chloe asks. 

Jessica blows out a stream of air. “Oh god, a long time,” she says, scrunching her eyes up in thought. “Maybe ten years? I was floating through my early-20s, wanting to do my master’s but didn’t really have the money, so I’d drop in on free seminars when I had time between terrible retail jobs and waitressing gigs. I met Stacie in a seminar. She was sitting beside me and—I kid you not—she spent the whole time talking and flirting with me. To the point where they sent security to escort her out. When I left the lecture hall, she was waiting outside. She apologized, said the lecture was a waste of time, we walked, then she just offered me a job—took a chance on me when I didn’t have much to offer, and that was that. I didn’t really have much else to lose besides Ashley. We’d only been dating for two weeks or something, but that girl was crazy enough to follow me here.”

“Aww!” Chloe squeals. “Wow, that’s…”

“Life-changing, if I’m honest. It was for all of us, I think.”

“Did everyone else come later?”

“Yeah. After me and Ashley, they brought in CR and Lilly. I think Fat Amy was last.”

“Oh! I think I met Amy earlier,” Chloe says furrowing her brows. “Passed by her in a hallway. I think she was going to the pool since she had a swimsuit on and everything. She didn’t really introduce herself though…just hugged me and called me a little red lollipop or something and laughed. It was…pretty weird.”

“Oh boy,” Jessica says, sucking the air through her teeth. “I hope that didn’t make you too uncomfortable. She’s weird and unfiltered, but very sweet once you get to know her. She runs a cabaret in the city for queer youth, so she isn’t around that often. Still, she’s very protective of Beca, more so than Stacie in some ways, so she might be extra weird around you since…you’re new here and you’ll probably be spending a lot of time with Beca.”

Chloe nods slowly. “Does that mean Beca was already here before everyone else?”

“Yeah,” Jessica says, her smile widening when she notes down the way Chloe always focuses in on Beca, whether she’s aware of it or not. “As far as I know, they’ve always been together. I think they were raised together in the same orphanage or something—they don’t talk about it much.”

“What?” This catches Chloe off-guard, and she straightens up. “But…Stacie’s grandma?”

Jessica shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s complicated, I guess. Can you grab the soda water from the fridge? I’m just gonna throw in a lemon and call in a day.”

Chloe nods stiffly, her mind still stuck in the picture of young Beca and Stacie in an orphanage. She doesn’t hear Jessica’s voice behind her, and it’s only when she hands the bottle of water to her does she see that her lips are moving. “Sorry, what?” Chloe asks, blinking.

Jessica smiles and shakes her head. “It’s nothing important. I just asked if you needed to take a nap. It’s been a long morning, and you didn’t get to sleep last night.”

“No, I don’t think I can,” Chloe replies quietly.

“In that case, I’m going to take the food downstairs. Maybe you can help me bring the pitcher and cups?”

Chloe smiles and eagerly nods. “The house is still intact, so I think we’re fine, but I’ll help you break up a fight if necessary.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Jessica says. They exchange a grin, and Chloe is warm with the feeling that no matter what happens, she’s at least gained a friend in Jessica.

* * *

Aubrey Posen hates Stacie Conrad.

It’s an establish fact now that they’ve spent the last _five_ hours bickering about the way her files on Cole should be digitalized. It’s inconsequential, but Stacie Conrad is somehow _more_ type-A than she is when it comes to her data, and she _has_ to be arrogant and annoying about it every time she opens her mouth.

She’s exhausted, hungry, and the fight has all but left her after _five hours_ with the most annoying woman in the world.

“How is it _possible_ you did everything with pen and paper?” Stacie grumbles for the fiftieth time as she types in one of Aubrey’s reports. “You’re way too hot to be this paranoid. And to have such terrible handwriting.”

Aubrey rubs her eyes with a thumb and forefinger, and she _really_ wants to throw the stack of paper in her lap at Stacie. There is a metal table of files between their swivel chairs, but not much else—really, she could just kick the table into Stacie’s stomach if she _really_ wants to. “There is absolutely no correlation between those things. Not everyone has the privilege of existing inside a vacuum like you and whatever this set-up is.” She waves at the lab dismissively, though she _is_ impressed—even if Stacie will never know it. She doesn’t recognize all the fancy equipment around the brightly-lit room, but just the holograms floating about them, broadcasting the information Stacie is typing in in real time, makes her feel like she’s in a science fiction movie. Even her time at the FBI didn’t give her much to play with, especially without strict clearance. Stacie, on the other hand, has no rules and no boundaries, which makes her arguably one of the most dangerous people Aubrey has ever met.

In more ways that one, she realizes as she rolls her eyes when Stacie sticks her tongue out at her like a toddler. Aubrey doesn’t want to find Stacie attractive, but objectively, she is, and the obnoxious flirting isn’t enough yet for her to see Stacie differently—she hopes to god this will change within the next nineteen hours. Worse, it’s easy to see that Stacie is very familiar with a mirror, and is used to the world letting her get away with far too much.

“By your standards, you are too hot to be this childish,” Aubrey whispers under her breath, wincing a little as she hopes Stacie doesn’t hear her. She can admit too that she snuck more than one peek at those ridiculously long legs beneath the fitted black shorts, and the billowy white blouse hanging open doesn’t help either, but Aubrey has eyes and is only human. What Stacie doesn’t know won’t kill her.

Unfortunately, Stacie seems to have superhuman hearing, and she gasps. “So, you _do_ think I’m hot,” she says, grinning smugly. She wiggles a little in her seat in what Aubrey assumes to be a victory dance.

It’s almost cute, if—again—she isn’t so _annoying_ all the time. “Not at all,” Aubrey says, attempting to disengage from all of this by refocussing on the folder in her lap. While Stacie insists on entering every report into her computer, she’s more than happy reviewing her old files so they can focus on _moving forward_.

Stacie pouts. “Maybe if I survive your handwriting, I’ll be able to help you remove that giant stick up your ass too.”

“And you’re never going anywhere near my ass if you keep up this twelve-year-old boy schtick you’ve got going on,” Aubrey says without looking up from her file. She doesn’t see the way Stacie’s eyes light up, or the way she straightens, opens her mouth, and grins in lieu of saying anything else. At her silence, Aubrey looks up. “What, no comeback?”

“Oh no,” Stacie says, grin widening, “just quietly thinking about all the things I _will_ be doing to your ass once you fall madly in love with me.”

Aubrey glares. She can feel her cheek warm, but she tells herself it’s definitely from second-hand embarrassment. Slowly, she says, “Do you…ever just… _think_ about something before you say it out loud? Or, do you always have to say the first thing that pops into your brain? Even if it’s the dumbest thing on Earth.”

“That depends. Maybe I just like getting a rise out of you,” Stacie says with a shrug.

Annoying, arrogant, _and_ absolutely insufferable.

Aubrey is seriously considering the whole kicking the table scenario when footsteps echo toward them from above.

“Ooh!” Stacie claps, springing out of her seat to clear a space on the table. “Lunch time!” she declares.

Aubrey looks at her watch in surprise. Already? But they’d gotten next to nothing done.

The blonde driver who introduced herself as Jessica is carrying a full tray of food. Behind her, Chloe beams at the sight of Aubrey, waving a stack of cups and a pitcher of juice as she approaches. Aubrey smiles right back—no matter what, it’s good to see Chloe’s face. 

“Jess!” Stacie exclaims, “my saviour and my angel!” She bounds over to relieve Jessica of the tray before setting it on the table. Instead of serving the food, however, she pulls Jessica to a separate workbench. “Can you take a look at these glasses for me?” Aubrey overhears her asking. It piques her curiosity to hear Stacie speak like a normal person and not at all like the annoying hormonal child Aubrey knows her to be. “I’ve been trying to figure out this glitch…”

While her ears strain in an effort to eavesdrop, she doesn’t hear Chloe come up beside her until she pulls her into a one-armed hug. “How are you doing, Bree?” Chloe asks, grinning broadly. “Glad to see you haven’t murdered Stacie yet.”

“Definitely thinking about it,” Aubrey scoffs. “There’s a million and one ways to do it in this room. I just haven’t decided how yet.”

“You both look like you’re working hard. That means something, right?” Chloe says with a hopeful smile.

“I don’t know,” Aubrey grumbles, “she’s just been typing all day, I’m sincerely hoping she isn’t just wasting time.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Why don’t you help her, Bree? Or…are you still upset Stacie called you out on the mistake you made on my file?”

Aubrey scoffs, louder this time. “I’m _not_ wasting my time being upset at anything _she_ does.”

“You seem upset.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “Fine. A little. I mean, I’m just worried, okay? You know I’m not the best with technology. I paid a lot of money to hide your identity and to make sure it stays hidden, and it took that idiot literally no time at all to figure it all out. If she can do it, I can’t help but think other people will figure it out too. That puts you in danger, Chloe. So yeah, that makes me a little upset.”

Chloe steps into Aubrey’s space with another hug. “You have to stop taking responsibility for everything that happens, Bree. You did everything you could.” She steps back with a wry smile on her face. “Besides, you’re either not giving Stacie enough credit or you’re giving George Cole too much. Chill.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little _too_ chill about all of this, Chlo?”

Chloe shrugs, a small smile dangling from her lips. “You weren’t there that night, Bree—you didn’t see the way Beca fights. I don’t think Stacie is just a pretty face either. So, I think if they really wanted to, they would’ve killed me twice by now.”

“Chloe,” Aubrey says, dropping her hands on both shoulders. “Just because you’re alive, it doesn’t mean we can trust them. Not killing you is, like, the _lowest_ bar.”

“But it’s not just that,” Chloe insists. “They saved me. And now they’re protecting me…even though I lied to them about who I am.”

“They’re protecting you because they’re just looking for a paycheque,” Aubrey sighs in exasperation, dropping her arms in the process.

“They’re not,” Chloe says. She throws a cautious glance at Stacie. Fortunately, she’s still deep in conversation with Jessica by the workbench, and seems not at all aware of their conversation. “They don’t need the money,” she adds in a whisper. “I mean…they don’t do it for the money, I don’t think.”

Aubrey raises a brow. “And how do you know?”

Chloe shifts uncomfortably. “Jessica told me. Okay, I know that look,” she says, throwing up her hands, “and before you say anything, I know I sound insane—”

“Yeah, Stockholm Syndrome levels of insane, Chloe,” Aubrey mutters, rubbing her temples.

“I…I just have a good feeling about them. I mean, Stacie scared me at first, but…I don’t think she’s a bad person. I can’t explain it more than that,” Chloe finishes with a sheepish expression.

In all the years that Aubrey has known Chloe, she’s always known her to follow her heart, no matter where it takes her. She’d always admired that about her. Once upon a time, she also wished she could take a feeling and run with it—Chloe has always been good at that. Everything she does, she does on a _feeling_. Even if she hits a wall, she finds a way to pick herself up, bandage up the cuts and bruises, and climb over it.

But Aubrey also knows Chloe’s heart well enough to know where _these_ feelings, this particular trust come from, and she can’t pretend she doesn’t see the dreamy smile on Chloe’s face.

Chloe falls in love too easily, and Aubrey can only hope and pray that her little crush doesn’t evolve. Even though Chloe is all she has left in this world by way of family, there are just some things she can’t protect her from.

Aubrey sighs, as a sinking feeling fills her. “The little one—what’s her name—is she nice to you?” She asks.

She prays a little harder when Chloe brightens. “You mean Beca?” And she smiles—the kind that can take on the world. The kind that doesn’t see yet the heartbreak ahead. “Yeah, she’s great. She’s…going to teach me how to defend myself tomorrow. I think. She said I should prepare for anything, so I should train. Brush up on those skills from the academy, I guess.”

“Oh,” Aubrey finds herself saying. “That’s…really nice of her, actually.” Then, she shakes her head. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Chlo. Don’t get too attached, okay? Even if we _can_ trust these _vigilantes_ , our lives aren’t here. Not forever.”

Chloe blinks in surprise, but quickly recovers, replacing her carefully crafted smile. “Yeah, of course, silly. I know that.”

“Good.” Aubrey wraps Chloe up in a hug. “Don’t forget.”

* * *

That night, Beca finds Stacie alone in her lab as she’s typing away on a computer with a stack of paper beside her.

“Where’s Aubrey?” Beca asks without preamble.

Stacie turns and shushes her loudly, pointing to a lump hidden from view on a plushy couch in the corner.

Beca snorts. “Wow, all it took was a lady to get you to clean your garbage pile,” she comments drily, peering over the mountain of bits and bobs piled on top of and below a separate table. “Kind of.”

“Believe me, I was going to let her sleep on top of all that crap, but,”—Stacie swivels her chair around and clasps a hand to her heart— “she tried so hard to stay awake longer than me. You should’ve seen how grumpy she was toward the end. Everything is a competition to her, and it’s just so fucking cute.”

Beca quirks a brow and crosses her arms. “Right…so I guess you’re getting along?”

Stacie chuckles quietly. “Not exactly. She absolutely hates me, and it makes me _so_ horny. Ugh, Beca,” she says, grabbing her friend by the arm and swinging it wildly, “I want her so bad. Imagine all the angry sex!”

“Dude, gross,” Beca says, pulling her arm back. “I can’t with you when you’re being such a creep. It was bad enough watching you this morning.”

“I can’t help it,” Stacie says with an unapologetic grin. “The Hunter brings out the worst in me.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s my vagina.”

“So you’ve said. Many times.”

“And he is starving for blondes,” Stacie sighs dramatically as she throws her head back against her chair.

Beca shakes her head, smiling nonetheless. “You know, Stace…she’s gonna have you wrapped around her finger before the week is out.” 

Stacie sits up quickly, her grin somehow even wider. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

“So… maybe be careful?”

“We’ll have a safe word,” Stacie says with a wink.

“God, you’re so weird,” Beca replies, pulling up an empty chair beside Stacie. “I hope you didn’t spend all day harassing Aubrey and actually did something down here.”

Stacie huffs, then spins back around to her computer. “Personally, I find it offensive that you have so little faith in me,” she says playfully as she projects a few files onto the space above her computer. Walls of text holographically float above them in a light shade of blue. Beca squints, but is immediately defeated by the sheer number of words. “While Aubrey was rereading her old case files, I spent the day deciphering her handwriting and digitizing them. We’re lucky she had the foresight to make extra copies of everything before the feds took her stuff away. The woman doesn’t look it, but she’s apparently a paranoid-ass grandma.”

“So…just your type,” Beca teases.

Stacie ignores her. “A couple of the newer files are actually written by Chloe—off the record, of course. Her handwriting kinda looks like a 13-year-old girl’s—I mean, what kind of grown woman signs her name with a heart? But it’s easy to read and she’s actually pretty observant.”

Beca leans in. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she’d been staking out Henry for about a couple of days before she approached. Seems like she’s the one who figured out he was Georgie’s weak link. I highlighted some of the most common places she noted down”—Stacie taps away at her keyboard, and several words are circled— “just based on this, I’d say she figured out that Henry was in contact with one of Georgie’s biggest suppliers, and she was trying to find out who it is and where it is, so she can link the Cole family to it. I’ve triangulated the location of the supplier to this radius.” She pauses to pull the words from the air. In its place was a map and a large circle. Within the circle, Beca recognizes the location of the party sitting at the lower left edge. “Red was surprisingly close—I’m pretty impressed. Just needed that extra bit of juice she was hoping to get from Henry, I guess.” 

“You think they’re still around?” Beca asks.

“Highly unlikely,” Stacie says, leaning her elbows on her desk. “George is probably going to go dark for a while until he makes sure Chloe is dead, though I’m assuming it’s more of a revenge situation at the moment rather than him seeing her as any kind of real threat. If they uncover Chloe’s identity, I’m pretty sure it won’t take long for them to get to Aubrey either. If they’re _really_ good, they might even find you. Consequently—us.”

“So, what are we supposed do? Sit around until they blow this place up?” Beca says, scowling.

Stacie shrugs. “They’re a small operation, and not known for being the sharpest tool. We’re lucky Aubrey fiddled with Chloe’s digital footprint, but I don’t think it’s enough. They just need a half-decent computer nerd to dig out old social media data—assuming your Chloe doesn’t live under a rock, which…with her face? It’s doubtful. The average merc probably won’t get too far unless they partner up, or get help from a bigger family. Luckily, most of the big boys hate Cole and it’s unlikely they’ll help anybody take out a random chick. Especially a hot chick who killed Henry.”

“Unlikely means there’s still a chance. I mean, they infiltrated the police, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, but everybody does these days.” Stacie leans her chin on her hand as she stares vacantly into her monitor in thought. “I don’t think we have much choice except to wait right now. We don’t know how much they know or what their plans are,” she mumbles. “Either we find a clue in Aubrey’s files, or they drop a clue themselves.”

“Let’s hope we find something,” Beca sighs. “I don’t like doing nothing.”

“Knowing your darling redhead is in danger?” Stacie quips.

“What?” Beca whips around with a glare.

Stacie smiles again, like a cat mid-pounce on a fat mouse. “Nothing, just finishing your thought for you.”

“Dude, it’s not like that,” Beca grumbles.

“So, your cold, dead heart is giving Chloe self-defence lessons with some ulterior motive?”

“What? No! Don’t make it sound so…awful,” Beca grumbles, looking away, flustered. “How did you even hear about that?”

Stacie laughs and clamps a hand down on Beca’s head, ruffling it lightly in affection. “I think it’s sweet you care so much,” she snickers. “Your little heart was getting rusty, my friend.”

“W-well, it was a dumbass move to try and get that close,” Beca mutters, batting Stacie’s hand away.

“Aww, _someone_ is protective,” Stacie says, nudging her in the side. “To be fair, if the dirty cops didn’t get into Aubrey’s files, it probably would’ve worked out. It didn’t seem like Henry suspected anything with Chloe’s whole innocent, wholesome vibe.”

“I don’t know about innocent—she’s still a cop,” Beca says.

“Not anymore,” Stacie smirks.

“She could still be a rat.”

Stacie turns, unimpressed. “Seriously? Are you saying that because you don’t trust _me_ to do my research? Or are you saying that because you don’t want to face your confusing feelings about a _super sexy redhead_?”

Beca rolls her eyes, though Stacie doesn’t miss the blush. “That is _so_ not what’s happening right now. I’m just…I’m just posing a possibility,” Beca stammers.

Stacie clicks her tongue. “Yeah, no. Far as I can tell, she’s not significant enough on the force to be recruited for even minor drug busts. She’s basically stuck doing paper work. I pulled her academy records too, and they were…awful might be an understatement. I have no idea why she even bothered after failing so many times. She’d probably make a half-decent kindergarten teacher, if you ask me.”

“Fine, but Aubrey?”

“Could be,” Stacie says with a half-shrug, “but I don’t think so. She’s too…I think volatile is the word they used in her psych eval. I think it’s sexy as hell, but it’s not the _best_ quality for a spy to have.”

“So, we’re putting everyone at risk because you—no, your _Hunter_ —has some kind of intuition.”

Stacie throws up her hands. “I’ll keep an eye on her if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Beca scowls.

“God, Beca, would it kill you to believe in me?” Stacie says, slapping her across the shoulder with the back of her hand. “I have her phone, and I didn’t detect anything else when she came in through the front door. There are cameras everywhere, _and_ we have Lilly. Like, I _do_ agree with you—we can never be too safe, but I really think we’ll be fine. Aubrey has too much to lose and too little to gain.”

“But—"

Stacie cuts her off with a groan. “I’ll ask Lilly to verify my _intuition_ and I’ll monitor the house. Is that enough for you, Baby Bird?”

“Fine,” Beca grunts.

“Leave the espionage and paranoia to me, and you go figure out your feelings about Chloe, okay?” Stacie says, snickering.

Beca stands and gives Stacie a light punch in the shoulder. “I hate you. And I’m leaving,” she says, stalking away. “Gonna try to get some sleep. You should too.”

Stacie rubs her shoulder and laughs quietly. “You know I never do. Good night, Beca.”

Beca tosses a wave behind her as she walks away. “Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody! Wow, another week another chapter, eh? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for subscribing and commenting so far. I really appreciate your support. I've been working on this story for almost a month now, and it's changed and evolved a lot in the process, so I'm really happy to see some of you guys excited about the ride as I am. 
> 
> I also wanted to take this time to introduce myself a little bit, as I think there was a bit of confusion regarding my first note. I've been writing for a long time, though I've definitely taken many breaks throughout my life. I found that writing is the gateway I'm most familiar with in finding people with as many feeling as I do, especially as someone who isn't all that great with social media (hence...a Twitter I only use to talk to the wonderful, brave souls kind enough to reach out). 
> 
> But, this was a story I never expected to happen, especially as I distinctly remember telling myself there are enough fun PP stories on AO3. 
> 
> In all honesty, I'd fully expected to quite writing fic forever after I finished my last project for Marvel's Runaways in spring. I'd been thinking about writing a novel, as I have for years, but life kind of took a turn with Covid. I'd been working abroad and forced to come home early to face uncertainty for the first time in a long time, and that was pretty scary!
> 
> I suspect there's a bit of nostalgic comfort to it, but out of the blue, I started I reread a few Pitch Perfect stories I loved years ago, and very quickly, I realized I missed writing. Just sheer writing, without the pressure of trying to gain some kind of stake in the literary world. Plus, there just aren't enough Bechloe AND Staubrey stories (and as I am in the middle of chapter 6, I find myself loving Staubrey more and more).
> 
> So, with a stray idea, I started with this one while I put my career and life back on track. It's been like hot cocoa on a cold autumn day, and I really love it. If I haven't sold you yet, I hope you learn to love it too as you read on. 
> 
> As always, I'm grateful for any form of appreciation. So far, Pitch Perfect seems to be a small but mighty fandom, so thank you for everyone taking the time to share the love. 
> 
> See you all soon!


	4. The Impulse

At precisely six o’clock the next morning, Beca approaches Chloe’s bedroom door with two solid taps. To her surprise, Chloe opens the door almost immediately, fully-dressed and ready to go. She doesn’t miss the darker rings around her eyes, but she’s smiling when she sees Beca, and Beca finds herself smiling back before she can do anything about it.

“Good morning!” Chloe chirps.

“Are you always this eager in the morning?” Beca asks, raising a brow.

“Yeah, actually,” Chloe laughs. “Before this whole thing, I’m always up at five for a morning run.” She shrugs. “Kinda crazy how far away that feels now.”

Beca nods. She’s still smiling when she hears Chloe laugh so freely, and she realizes only now that she’s a whole different person with a whole different life, and that she’s so much more than the nervous, fearful mess she pulled out of the gunfight only three days ago. Beca’s stomach flips when she catches herself thinking how much she wants to get to know Chloe. What her life was like and whether she misses it, what makes her laugh, what makes her cry—for a woman who views the world from the outside looking in, the feeling is baffling.

“What are we doing today?” Chloe asks as Beca leads her out through the kitchen and into an empty, grassy part of the property near the edge of the lake.

Beca hums. She takes off the backpack she’s been wearing, a small black one that blends into her black tank top, completely disguising itself from Chloe’s view until this moment. Unbeknownst to Beca, Chloe was too distracted by the morning sun against Beca’s hair and arms to notice the backpack. “We’ll just do some trials today,” Beca says, pulling out a timer from her bag before dropping it to the ground. “I estimated a few goals for us to hit.”

“Ooh, my own personal fitness trainer,” Chloe says, clasping her hands together happily.

“Kinda—if your previous trainers also tried to make sure you survive gunfights,” Beca says nonchalantly.

“Er, guess not.”

Beca crosses her arms, her expression grave. “If you ever get caught in another bad situation, there’s a couple of things that will help.” Chloe nods eagerly. “First is endurance—you never know when you need to run.” Beca holds out a thumb, followed by an index finger. “Second, there’s agility—you never know when you need to run around obstacles.” Two more fingers join the count. “Third, reflexes, and finally, there’s marksmanship.”

Chloe pales. “Oh god, I should’ve expected I’d have to shoot a gun again.”

Beca dips her head. “I know it’s…not easy for you, but…it might save your life.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, tentatively touching Beca’s wrist. “Thank you again, by the way. For everything you’re doing for me.” Warmth washes over Chloe when the tips of Beca’s ears turn pink.

“It’s fine,” Beca mumbles, looking away. She clears her throat. “We’ll start with laps around the lake today. Obstacle course tomorrow—we’ll alternate. Today will be your first endurance test. I’ll time you and I’ll run with you too.” When Chloe tilts her head, Beca goes on to explain, “The property has a lot of cameras, but we’re out in the open, and Stacie’s the only one who monitors the place, and she hasn’t slept in three days, so…” Beca takes a deep breath, “We can never be too safe, right?”

Chloe swallows at that. She had been so excited to train with Beca that she almost allowed herself to forget about the bounty. “Right,” she mumbles. 

Chloe has been a runner almost her whole adult life, and she’s always believed she’s built up a good level of stamina over the years. She started in college, when Aubrey dragged her into a half-marathon. It was a brutal summer, having never been exceptionally athletic before, but she can still recall the rush of crossing that finish line, a high that she continued to chase year after year, long after Aubrey got too busy to run with her. One year, she even saved up enough money to go to Disney World to participate in the full twenty-six-mile marathon. She probably would’ve chalked it up to one of the most memorable experiences of her life, had she not accidentally murdered a man and was rescued by a beautiful, tiny Wonder Woman.

And clearly, Disney World was not designed to train assassins.

Three-fourths into her sixth lap around the lake, she slows to a walk, and eventually surrender when her jelly-like legs start to give out. Beca has to jog back to pick her up from the ground. “Leave me here to die,” Chloe moans. She is almost angry that Beca’s just glistening with sweat and not bothered at all, like she can run all day and still be fine.

“You’re not half-bad,” Beca tries to comfort with a lopsided smile. “I don’t think any of the girls could’ve kept up this long. Not even Stacie, with how much she sits nowadays.”

Chloe groans, takes a few more steps, before allowing her legs to buckle beneath her and her whole body to hit the long, scratchy grass. She lays there for a long moment with her eyes closed and feels the cool wind on her burning skin. Suddenly, a shadow falls over the light permeating her eyelids, and she opens them to see Beca peering down at her with her hands on her hip.

She’s smirking, and Chloe’s own lips twitch into a smile with a mind of their own. “Hi,” she says.

“Comfortable?” Beca asks.

“Yeah, actually,” Chloe replies, holding up her hand. “Join me?”

And to her surprise, Beca takes her hand. It feels different than the way their hands touched just a minute ago when Beca pulled her up—it’s staticky and warm, pulsing like hearts in their palms. Beca doesn’t move. She studies her, and Chloe feels extraordinarily raw.

“You’re not gonna help me down?” Beca says quietly.

“Sorry,” she says with a nervous giggle. “Maybe I just like holding your hand.”

Even with the sun behind her and her face in shadows, Chloe can just make out the pink spilling across her cheeks. It’s exhilarating to see that she has the power to put it there, and even more exhilarating to feel the warmth burn in her own face. Beca doesn’t reply, and she pulls her down.

She doesn’t let go, and neither does Beca. Despite the tension of yesterday, and the question of trust still looming above them, it’s frighteningly easy to be around Beca. In fact, among all the bad that exists within her situation, the safety she feels around Beca is the only thing that makes sense.

“I could stay like this forever,” Chloe thinks out loud as she looks up at the big, blue sky.

She hears the grass beside her rustle, and feels Beca’s eyes locked into the side of her face. Her heart kicks up, beating so wildly she’s sure that Beca can feel it through her palm. So she closes her eyes and pretends to enjoy the mid-morning breeze.

The grass shifts again. “It’s nice,” Beca says quietly. “Stacie and I used to come out here whenever we could when we were kids. Not sure why we stopped.” Her voice drops to a dreamlike whisper. “You can almost forget how awful the world is out there.”

Chloe looks over then, but Beca’s eyes are no longer on her. She’s watching the sky and she looks…younger somehow. “Do you ever think back to, like, super ancient times and wonder if people ever took a moment to enjoy what they had? Before all the guns and the violence and… the worst parts of humanity.”

Beca chuckles. “I can’t imagine there could ever be a time before violence. We’ve always had to survive. And we killed everyone in our way because of that.”

“Aw, that’s so sad,” Chloe says with a frown.

“W-well, I’m sure even then…maybe when there wasn’t a dinosaur over their shoulder or whatever...they took a moment to look around them and appreciate the beauty of the world.”

Chloe giggles, and opens her eyes to meet Beca’s eyes with a sheepish grin. “Like us, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Beca replies softly. “Like us.”

Neither can say how long they spent laying there, watching the clouds drift by in silence. It feels like an eternity, yet altogether too short. As a particularly fluffy cloud breaks into pieces, Chloe suddenly hears Aubrey’s voice telling her not to get attached. She looks over at Beca, who looks back at her with a puzzled expression. How can she not get attached, Chloe’s own voice fights back, sounding almost petulant next to Aubrey’s. How can she drop all the butterflies this woman gives her, and go back to her life?

A life contained in a mediocre job in a mediocre apartment. A life where, up until a month ago, the most exciting thing she’d ever done was drop half her savings on a Disney World marathon.

It isn’t like she can simply slide back into the everyday routine of her old life. She doesn’t have a job anymore. They’ll probably get evicted before long. Aubrey’s here. Even her favourite coffee shop closed down last week. What _is_ there to go back to?

“What is it?” Beca asks, squeezing her hand and tugging her out of the vortex she’d trapped herself in.

It takes her a moment to realize where she is. She looks over, and—

Oh.

Beca’s eyes are blue—Chloe has never noticed that before. A shade of blue and grey she can’t put her finger on—it’s bright and it’s dark, diametrically opposed yet perfectly fitting. Cool and warm like candle wax on marble.

Chloe clears her throat. “Nothing, it’s just…um…” I really want to kiss you right now. The words pop into Chloe’s mind with the subtlety of thunder, and her world simultaneously flips on its axis and snaps into place. No other words feel right, and it’s the only thing she wants to say. The only thing she can’t say. So, she doesn’t. “It’s nothing.”

But when she closes her eyes this time, there is no downward spiral of anguish over the state of her life. Instead, she pictures herself leaning over, one hand still in Beca’s while the other leans her weight on her forearm by Beca’s head. She pictures her lips against hers and Beca’s hand on her waist. It’s almost too easy, she realizes, wrenching her eyes open to escape the imagination inside the darkness.

Beca sits up suddenly, breaks the tether between them, and Chloe sees her scramble to all fours in her peripheral. For a moment, her heart beats out of her chest at the thought of Beca somehow reading her mind and finding her thoughts repulsive, but Beca pulls a Glock from her belt, and a different kind of fear takes over, followed by the very unhelpful thought that Beca is delightfully sexy with a gun in her hand.

“Did you hear that?” Beca whispers.

Chloe shakes her head. It’s a bit difficult to hear anything when your inner voices keep making uncomfortable revelations about the woman beside you—the assassin who saved you—she wants to explain.

“Stay here,” Beca mutters. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small pistol, slightly bigger than the size of her palm. Distractedly, she presses it into Chloe’s hand and peers up over the grass. “Take this just in case. I’ll be back.”

Chloe rolls onto her stomach and pushes herself up onto her elbows, the little gun warm in both hands. It’s small, she thinks as she peers down at it. So small that it almost looks innocent. Like a child’s toy.

Her mind flashes back to Henry Cole’s dead body and the weight of his gun in her hands, and she wants to throw up.

She lifts herself up and looks around to distract herself from the image, but there’s no sign of Beca. The fields, with its long, unmowed strands of green and yellow, waver slightly in the wind. Empty. The narrow dirt path around the lake is also empty.

She bites her tongue to keep herself from calling out Beca’s name, despite all the awful images her mind immediately conjures up. As the seconds tick, it becomes harder to breathe. The air seems to press right into her chest like bricks. Fear creeps up the back of her neck, and her hands feel sweaty against the metal of the gun.

Suddenly, the grass rustles beside her, and she leaps up on instinct, pointing her gun with both eyes closed. Her hand is on the trigger, ready to squeeze, when she feels something knock into the underside of her wrist, sending the gun to the ground with a soft thump. When she opens her eyes, she sees Beca retracting her leg from what must’ve been a very high kick.

“Sorry,” Beca says, mildly amused by the yelp that escapes Chloe’s mouth, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Your reflexes aren’t half bad. Just…you might want to keep your eyes open next time you’re holding a gun.” Chloe mumbles a short, embarrassed apology, but the whole incident is forgotten when Beca walks closer and Chloe see what’s in her arms.

“Ohmigod,” Chloe gasps, moving closer. “Is that…?”

“Cute, right?”

It’s a small, grey, baby rabbit, breathing hard as it looks in Chloe’s direction with its glassy black eyes. It isn’t just cute. Against the backdrop of her life, it’s the cutest little thing she’s ever seen. Cuter still with Beca’s gooey smile above it.

“Oh my god,” Chloe whispers again, tentatively reaching out to brush a finger against the rabbit’s forehead.

“Yeah,” Beca says, gently stroking the fur around the rabbit’s neck. “Must’ve been the noise I heard earlier. Rabbits don’t usually get through the fence, but this one…”

“She’s kind of skinny,” Chloe says with a pout as she gets in closer to stroke the rabbit’s head with a finger.

“Yeah, we should take her inside. Maybe one of the girls will know what to do.” Beca lowers her face and whispers to the rabbit, “We’ll take care of you, little buddy. Don’t be scared.”

Chloe’s heart squeezes and she wonders again: how is she supposed to not get attached when Beca is this adorable?

* * *

Cynthia Rose, Amy, Ashley, and Jessica all stand around the plastic tub on the second-floor patio, exchanging looks. They’re all thinking the same thing, but none of them dare say it out loud: Beca _really_ loves her strays.

The redheaded stray is bouncing on the balls of her feet while Beca nervously chews her lower lip as she looks around at her friends. She knows they’re judging—confused at the very least—and it makes her feel like a kid with a new pet, begging her parents to let her keep it.

“I don’t know, Beca,” Cynthia Rose says, rubbing her neck with her hand. “I don’t think anyone here knows much about animals.”

“Yeah, only between the sheets, if you know what I mean,” Amy says, raising her hand for a high-five. When nobody bites, she shakes her head. “You guys are such prudes.”

“I hope it’s not sick,” Jessica says, kneeling down to get a better look.

“She’s probably just hungry, right?” Chloe asks.

Ashley tilts her head and squints at the rabbit sitting in the tub. “How do you know she’s a she?”

Chloe shrugs. “She’s just got that feminine energy?”

Beca crouches down to pet the little rabbit as she listens. She smiles when she doesn’t run away, and she doesn’t dare meet Jessica’s eyes even though she knows she’s watching her.

“What do rabbits even eat? Our scraps?” CR asks.

“Carrots?” Amy suggests. “Oh, wait, duh, I can look it up. One sec,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Uh, hay, green food, and fruits and veggies. What the hell is green food?”

Chloe nods eagerly. “Okay, that sounds pretty easy.”

“Regardless,” Jessica sighs, “I’m just gonna say it so we’re clear—I’m not responsible for taking care of her.”

“Yeah,” Cynthia says, shifting uncomfortably. “Like, she’s cute, but Amy and I aren’t always here, and we’re pretty busy.”

“I guess I—” Ashley starts to say when Jessica gives her a light slap on the shin from where she’s kneeling.

She shoots her a stern look that immediately makes Ashley flinch. “No, Ash.”

Ashley flashes a sympathetic smile, followed by a nervous laugh. “Never mind, then.”

“Oh! It’s totes okay, you guys,” Chloe says, nudging Beca’s leg lightly with her own. “We can take care of her, right Becs? Finders keepers and all that.”

Beca feels too many incredulous eyes staring down at her as heat burns to the top of her ear. She can picture all the wide teasing grins misconstruing Chloe’s kindness and friendliness for something else. She can already imagine Amy barging into her room later and she is _not_ looking forward to what she’s going to imply.

“Alright, _Becs_ ,” Amy snickers. “You better take care of your new baby. Motherhood is so fleeting.”

“Yeah, at least she’s cute,” CR says, chuckling. “I hate having to lie to people with ugly babies.”

“I’ll go check the fence later to make sure everything’s intact,” Ashley offers.

“Wait, Ashley’s right,” Jessica says, furrowing her brows. “I hate to be the party pooper here, but are we sure this rabbit isn’t some kind of trap? I mean, that fence is rabbit-proof.”

“Jess, it’s a rabbit!” Amy says, gesturing at the oblivious rabbit in the tub. “You don’t hafta get your panties in a bunch about everything.”

“Well…under the circumstances, anything is possible?” Ashley says with a nervous smile. It’s a blatant attempt to be the supportive spouse she always has to be, but her friends simply roll her eyes.

Beca rubs down the rabbit’s fur. She holds it up by the arms to show everyone it’s soft, white underside. “I don’t think she’s bugged,” Beca says matter-of-factly. “We took her through the front door just in case, and her little heart is definitely alive. I don’t see how it could be a trap.”

Jessica sighs once more, pushing herself up to wrap her arm around Ashley’s waist. “If you’re sure, Beca. Ashley and I will both go check the fence first. If nothing seems suspicious, I’ll set some food aside for the rabbit.” She gives Beca and Chloe both a stern look. “If you’re going to take care of her, you guys better do it right.”

“Thanks, Jess! Don’t worry, we will. Ooh, we should probably also get her some straw to play in,” Chloe says, still bouncing with excitement. “Oh, oh! We should also give her a name.” She kneels down and lightly tugs at Beca’s arm. “We should name her, right?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Beca mumbles, her gaze nervously flitting around her friends’ amused faces while her cheeks burned.

“If y’all are planning to be proud mama bears, you should name her,” Cynthia Rose says with a smirk.

Fat Amy’s hand shoots up like a rocket. “Ooh! Call her Amy. She could be, like, Fluffy Amy.”

“No way,” Beca says, standing up. The sudden motion surprises Chloe, and she nearly falls over. Luckily, Beca’s reflexes kick in and she catches her with an arm across her back. She deftly slips a hand under Chloe’s wrist and lifts her back up into a standing position. Her friends watch on with a mixture of amusement and awe.

Amy whistles. “Dang, Becs, I’ll fall for you whenever you want if you catch me like that.”

Cynthia Rose snorts, Jessica and Ashley exchange looks, then all four of them burst into a range of politely smothered giggles to not so polite laughter.

Beca narrows her eyes and drops Chloe’s hand like she’s on fire when she realizes she’s still holding her wrist. “Fuck you guys,” she grumbles.

Beside her, Chloe let’s out a nervous laugh as she rubs her arm. “Um, any other suggestions for a name?” She asks, likely hoping to take the glaring spotlight off the two of them before Beca burns up into a crisp.

“Oh! Hey, what about the name of a different animal?” Ashley says, still grinning. “Like Moose or Lion. Wouldn’t that be so cute?”

“Girl, Lion? For a rabbit? That’s confusing. What about food names? Like Cheesecake or Mashed Potato?” CR says, palm toward the rabbit. “ _That_ would be cute.”

Jessica raises a hand. “I’m partial to people names for pets, like Dave or Gary.”

“Or Amy!” Amy cuts in.

“Dude, we said she’s a girl,” Beca sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Jessica shrugs. “Okay, Davette and Garriet.”

“ _Amy_ is a girl’s name!”

Beca has never been the type to overthink, nor is she known to be impulsive. She takes what life offers her, reacts rather than acts. It’s easy when her life has been kept relatively simple. Predictable, despite the thrill of every mission. It’s easy when Beca has never been known to assert her wants and needs or demand anything of anyone.

Maybe it was her friends’ teasing or the fact that Chloe is so excited about taking care of the rabbit together. Maybe it was the need to get out of there. It could’ve been indigestion for all Beca knows. Either way, it’s a surprise to both her and her friends when she blurts, “Cotton.”

They gawk a little when she shrinks a little further into herself. She doesn’t know why she says it, but she knows it’s going to bother her.

While she stews in her embarrassment, she doesn’t yet know that in the nights to come, Beca will lay in bed, replaying that morning and that moment of impulse until the sun comes up. She’ll look at the grey rabbit in her mind’s eye and think of blue—the sky and the colour of Chloe’s eyes—and the fluffy clouds slowly tearing apart. She’ll think of the cool wind, the rattle of long grass, the warmth of Chloe’s hand in hers, and “I could stay like this forever.”

She’ll wish there exists a word that can encapsulate all of these feelings.

Instead, she’ll learn that Cotton is close enough.

Because it’s the clouds, and it’s the sweetness of cotton candy. It’s warm sweaters in cool weather. It’s Chloe, and it’s what fills her entire being as it expands and pushes against her lungs when Chloe is close.

But that realization hasn’t come yet, and she is left only with the confusion of every impulsive decision she’s made since she brought Chloe into her life—on an impulse, one could argue. These are impulses she never used to have—trusting, training, naming a _rabbit_.

Beca has never been a complicated person. She’s good at rolling along with life’s punches and never asking for more, but maybe her life has never been all that complicated. Not until now.

And present-Beca doesn’t know what to do with that.

“It’s…pretty basic, Beca,” Cynthia Rose says with a small smile, “but you do you, girl.”

“Aw, I think it’s cute,” Chloe says, bending down to scratch Cotton between the ears. “It suits her.”

Beca smiles in defeat. “Yeah.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, they did _what_?” Aubrey says, her voice squeezing far higher than she intended. It’s the first time she and Stacie has surfaced since she arrived, and she’d expected a nice quiet lunch in the sun with minimal harassment. She certainly wasn’t expecting _this._

Stacie sits down after she adjusts the umbrella attached to their bistro table. The sun is blazing hot in the early afternoon, and the shade is a lifesaver, though Aubrey isn’t going to set herself up with more niceties. Instead, she glowers at the beautiful, shimmering blue swimming pool before them as she tries to process the news.

“Yep,” Jessica says, laughing lightly as she stacks their dirty dishes back onto the tray to make room for glasses of iced tea. “That was kind of my reaction. They went out for a run this morning, and came back with a pet rabbit.”

“And they said they are raising this animal together?”

“Jeez, relax,” Stacie says after sending Jessica a quick thank you as she snags a glass from the table. She places the remaining glass in front of Aubrey, then relaxes back into her seat with a breezy smile. “It’s a rabbit. It’ll survive even if Beca and Chloe break up and Chloe has to apply for weekend visitation rights.”

Jessica takes the seat across from the two of them, and sips quietly. “Unless Cotton wants to go with Chloe.”

“Oh, Chloe named it already?” Stacie asks with a laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

Jessica shakes her head. “Actually, Beca did. Said it out of the blue like it was already an established fact. None of us could really say no. It’s disappointing though—I wanted to name it Gary,” she adds with a shrug.

“Huh.”

A pause.

“Well? Spit it out,” Aubrey snaps, shooting Stacie a glare. “I hate when you keep your revelations to yourself. You brought me here so we could work together, and you can’t seem to figure out how a team works.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m still thinking.” To Jessica, she stage-whispers, “She is _obsessed_ with me,” earning a slap on the shoulder from the subject herself. Jessica laughs, and doesn’t say anything else, content to watch these two play out their theatrics.

“Okay,” Stacie says slowly, “I’ve known Beca the longest, but I don’t know, I could still be wrong. She’s just…never been good at letting people into her world. She doesn’t even like learning names—it’s why she’s the worst person in the world to watch movies with. She hates getting attached, especially when…never mind. I guess our little ginger is having _quite_ an impact Beca. Even if neither of them has fully realized it yet.”

“What is Chloe thinking?” Aubrey grumbles, biting down on her straw.

“She’s not,” Stacie shrugs. “If there’s something between them, it’s happening quick. Not everyone can dedicate their whole life to the stick up their ass like you, Miss Posen.”

“I am _not_ having this conversation about sticks and asses again.”

Jessica raises her brows. “It’s fun making the most high-strung person in the world say ass all the time,” Stacie explains gleefully. “Anyway, they’re both consenting adults. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Aubrey scowls, “Because what’s gonna happen when we leave? Chloe puts up a front, but she hurts easily. I don’t want to see her heartbroken.”

Stacie puts down her drink and crosses her arms. “You don’t think Beca will? You don’t know half the shit she’s been through. Do you think it’s _easy_ for her to let people in? I just told you she hates getting attached. You think I want to see that blow up in her face?”

Jessica leans back, sipping her tea and wondering if there’s another layer to this conversation she’s imagining.

“Then you agree—we should put an end to this.”

Stacie shakes her head. “No way. I’m not going to stand in the way of happiness. Unlike _you_ , I have a heart, and I’m not about to have my best friend resent me for the rest of our mortal lives.”

“You know what?” Aubrey says, slapping a hand on the table with a little more force than she intended. “We’re probably just overreacting because of _your_ overactive imagination. There’s probably nothing going on. I’m glad Chloe could make a friend—she’s good at that.”

Jessica looks away, deftly covering her face to smother a snort, but still she says nothing.

Stacie, on the other hand, clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, holding up her palms, “if you’d just let me melt your frozen heart, maybe you wouldn’t have to pretend to be so delusional.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Aubrey says, not for the first time that day. “Why don’t we just find them? That’ll settle this.”

“Darling,” Stacie says again, leaning an elbow on the table. “You’re picking a losing fight.”

“Stop with your inane pet names—I’m _not_ your sweetie _or_ your goddamn darling,” Aubrey huffs. “And I’m not picking a losing fight. You’ll see.”

Stacie raises a brow. “You know, with every minute we waste fussing over them, a bad guy is a minute closer to killing us first. Are you really okay with that?”

Aubrey hesitates. Something flickers across her face, but she quickly squares her shoulders. “This won’t take long, I just…” she trails off and looks away—she knows Stacie is watching, and god, she hates being any shade of weak around this woman, but Stacie needs to know she isn’t crazy. She’s worried, but that doesn’t make her crazy. “I just…need to know that Chloe is going to be okay, alright? And it’s not like we’re making any progress.”

Stacie doesn’t say anything, and when Aubrey looks up, the smugness is gone. She’s watching her quietly, studying her, and Aubrey finds herself immediately missing that annoying, arrogant Stacie she’d come to know—this one makes her feel too vulnerable.

Finally, knowing these two probably didn’t even realize she was still here, Jessica pipes in. “Beca and Chloe fed the rabbit a while ago. Beca asked me for some cans and bottles and stuff for target practice, so I’m going to guess they’re near the greenhouse.”

Aubrey shoots out of her seat. “ _What_? Is she seriously making Chloe shoot a _gun_ after everything?” She takes a moment to gather herself, then calmly thanks Jessica for the meal, before whipping around. “We need to go, Stacie,” she commands before anyone else can respond. “Take me to the greenhouse.”

Jessica bursts into laughter as she watches Stacie nearly trip out of her chair to chase after Aubrey, doubling over when Stacie flashes her a middle finger behind her back. Stacie and Beca have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into, she thinks, still grinning as she wipes a tear from her eye.

“And they laughed when I said Stacie just needed to meet her match,” she whispers to herself as she lifts her hand to admire her wedding ring in the sun.

She, for one, can’t wait to see how this is plays out.

* * *

Beca wraps an arm around her knees as she tugs at the grass with a sigh. They’ve been outside for almost an hour, and Chloe has been standing, staring vacantly ahead with her gun pointed at the target—a single aluminum can on a stump—for at least half of it. Beca looks up at the tree, grateful for the shade, and silently hopes that she’ll think of something helpful to say.

Chloe lowers the gun, then lifts it.

“Chloe,” Beca says softly—the redhead immediately swivels to look at her, gun pointed to the ground, and Beca wants to laugh because she looks so much like a femme fatale in one of those Bond movies Stacie loves. There really is something otherworldly and untouchable about her, Beca muses. Her thoughts are interrupted, however, when she notices Chloe looking at her expectantly, and it’s only then that she realizes she hasn’t actually said anything other than her name.

“Yes?” Chloe says, tilting her head.

Beca shakes the fog from her head. “Oh, uh, I just wanted to asked if you, um…do you…maybe want to try again tomorrow?” She regrets her question immediately when the crestfallen expression falls over Chloe’s face.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Chloe admits. She glances at the can on the stump, eyes furrowed, and looks utterly, devastating frustrated. “But I _want_ to. I can’t just rely on other people to save me for the rest of my life, and for god’s sake, it’s not like I’ve never shot a gun before! I guess…I’ve always been afraid to, because…um…you know.”

“You never wanted to hurt anybody?” Beca says thoughtfully, “And you’ve definitely never intended to kill anybody. Not until now.” Chloe winces, and something inside Beca compels her to stand up and…not give her a hug—that would be…too much—but do _something_ to tell her it’ll be okay. She touches her elbow, so light she isn’t sure if Chloe can even feel it. “It’s okay,” Beca says with what she hopes is a comforting smile. “I know it can be scary. Everyone’s got different road blocks. Tell me what goes through your head when you’re holding this.” She drops her hand and taps a finger on the gun.

Chloe swallows. “I keep…thinking about that moment where it was just me and him. It was,” she chuckles bitterly, “dumb luck, really. A second more, and I would’ve been dead—and I don’t…I don’t ever want to come that close again.”

“But?”

Chloe grabs Beca’s hand with her free one, and drops her gaze to the grass between their shoes. “But,” she says quietly, “I keep…seeing the light going out of his eyes, and I keep feeling that awful, dead weight on me. I just…can’t stop the guilt of taking a _human life._ No matter how bad I know he is, I just…can’t. He had a family.”

Beca doesn’t find the words right away. She let’s Chloe’s feelings fill the space, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. She brushes her thumb over Chloe’s absently. “You don’t have to shut it all out,” Beca murmurs. “You don’t have to be heartless to want to survive.” Beca clears her throat when Chloe looks up and finds her eyes. “I-I know…I can seem heartless in this, um, line of work. And yeah, I think if I remembered every single person, and their families, I’d go crazy, but…it doesn’t mean I don’t remember.”

“But how… how do you do it if you don’t forget?”

Beca shrugs. “Everyone is different, I guess. I think about the innocent. The lives ruined by bad people and the systems set up by bad people to let them get away with it. Yeah, Cole had a family. But so did every kid on the street he tried to profit off of. Maybe I’m just desensitized to it, but...sometimes survival is bigger than just protecting yourself.”

“Yeah…I guess I can see that.”

“So, yeah,” Beca mumbles. She takes a step back and shoves her hands in her pockets with a sheepish smile. “Take your time. I…I want you to be ready, but you have to find your own reasons, I guess. And I don’t know if it helps, but you’re not the bad guy here.”

Chloe nods slowly. She stares at the can intensely. Long minutes pass as she shifts from leg to leg. Beca’s gaze floats between Chloe’s profile and her target. And god, why are _her_ hands so damp?

She wishes it could be as easy as jumping into Chloe’s head and quieting down the unhelpful voices. But she’s outside, apart, and utterly helpless. She doesn’t want to think about what would happen if Chloe can’t protect herself—what would happen if—when—Beca could no longer stay by her side and protect her. She didn’t save her just to see her get killed elsewhere, she reasons with herself.

Beca loosens her shoulders and takes a deep breath. Chloe isn’t her responsibility, she reminds herself.

Meanwhile, Chloe lowers her gun. Her gaze is laser-focused—locked into the tin can like it contains the secrets of the universe. She takes several breaths. Her knees are bent, and her arms are straight—her stance is perfect and poised.

She really is beautiful, Beca’s heart sighs before she could catch herself.

Chloe closes her eyes and starts to hum. It’s quiet, a ghost of a melody Beca isn’t sure she’s hearing. She doesn’t recognize the song, but it’s beautiful in Chloe’s voice. “I’m bulletproof,” Chloe sings under her breath, “nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away.”

She shifts her stance a little, and Beca is captivated. Something inside her seems to float as she listens.

“Ricochet, you take your aim…”

She lifts the gun up again with both hands, and the wind gives her hair a light tousle.

“Fire away, fire away—”

Beca hears the clink of metal on metal before she registers the loud bang. The shot rings out—a single note of fiery noise—echoes into the field and disappears into complete and utter silence. A long moment later, a quiet, “Oh my god,” cuts through the silence. Beca and Chloe exchange bewildered expressions—neither are sure who voiced the thought out loud.

“You…you did it!” Beca cries, opening her arms in excitement.

Chloe tosses the gun down onto the grass and runs in to sweep Beca up in a hug. “I did it!” She cheers, “I even hit the thing!”

“Yes!” Swept up in the excitement, Beca returns her hug, and only laughs when Chloe swings her around.

“Thank you,” Chloe whispers, squeezing her close.

“I didn’t do anything,” Beca replies lightly.

“You did,” Chloe insists with a grin, “and for the record, I would never think you’re heartless.”

Beca doesn’t say anything. She leans into the hug, takes advantage of the seconds that she has, and smiles.

Meanwhile, behind the greenhouse, Aubrey is gripping the metal corner, speechless at the display. She leans a little closer, wishing she could hear what they’re saying. But there’s no point—the look of pure joy on Chloe’s face is loud enough even without the body language.

“Wow,” Stacie whispers in a low voice from beside her.

“Yeah, alright, you win, okay?” Aubrey mutters.

“It’s not that—I mean, it is, but—” Aubrey turns to see Stacie gesturing, trying to find the words, and she stares, unused to the vulnerability and the confusion so boldly taking over this self-assured woman’s features. Stacie bites her lip, and looks back at her with almost watery eyes. A long moment passes where neither knows what to say, until she clears her throat and tears her gaze away from Aubrey’s.

“Beca is…a good person,” Stacie says, quietly wiping her eyes. Unsure with what to do with this very human, very emotional side of Stacie she never expected to see, Aubrey looks back at Beca, who is walking over to pick up the can. She can’t see her face, but Chloe’s is still glowing. “She doesn’t believe it herself, but she is. And I just…can’t remember the last time she looked so happy.”

Stacie turns and tugs at Aubrey’s sleeve. “I know you and Chloe aren’t planning to stick around here forever, but you see this, right? Happiness doesn’t have to be permanent for it to matter—surely, you can understand in your line of work too. Just a single day can change a life—you don’t need to know love to know that’s true. So...let’s just…leave it alone.”

Aubrey turns her wrist and touches the top of Stacie’s hand. “Let’s go. We have a lot of work to do,” she says in lieu of anything else. Emotions have never been her strong suit, either her own or those of others—she braces for Stacie’s teasing, brace’s for the spike of anger she loves to incite.

Instead, Stacie turns her palm up and laces her fingers together. Her smile is sheepish—vulnerable, still. “Yeah,” is all she says.

And Aubrey _really_ doesn’t know what to do with all this. She would’ve preferred the anger. Stacie’s open vulnerability is way too much for her to handle.

So, she pulls her hand from Stacie’s and drops it by her side. Her fingers flex involuntarily, but she is _not_ about to give into every little impulse her heart desires.

Not again.

Not _ever_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I'm back with an earlier update because this chapter is a bit of a filler. Chapters 5 and 6 are a lot longer I believe (roughly 12k each), and they start diving a bit deeper, so I'm going to give myself a couple of weeks to edit and make sure everything everything flows into Chapter 7, where there are some exciting things happening! I wish I could share everything with you guys ASAP, so you can all join me in my circle of feelings, but alas, I want to do things right. 
> 
> Whenever I write a story, I like to make a little playlist to accompany me, especially as a way of grounding characters and relationships into concise lyrics or abstracting their journeys in instrumentals. This week, I would love to share with you a couple of songs that reminded me of this story so far. As I'm listing this from my position in Chapter 7, you can consider it a bit of a sneak peek into what's coming ;)
> 
> Here is what I have for our protagonists and their relationships. This is due to change, but I'd love any suggestions or predictions if you'd like to join me in the feelings circle. 
> 
> Beca > Chloe: "Something" by The Beatles  
> Chloe > Beca: "I Really Like You" by Carly Rae Jepsen with a sprinkle of "Jealous" by Nick Jonas  
> Stacie > Aubrey: "Royal Highness" by Tom Grennan  
> Aubrey > Stacie: somewhere between "Trying Not to Love You" by Caroline Smith and "Uphill Battle" by Rozzi  
> Beca > < Chloe: a spectrum of "Strange" by Gabrielle Aplin (piano version, please) and "Honesty" by Pink Sweat$  
> Stacie > < Aubrey: "I Dare You" by the xx  
> All the Bellas > Bechloe and Staubrey: "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" a la The Lion King
> 
> I'm a little more confident about Staubrey than about Bechloe. If you listen to nothing else, give "Royal Highness" a try. It truly made me laugh when it came on. I'm flip flopping a bit about which songs I want for the characters on their own, but here's a little bit of a bonus for the observant readers and the curious cats: 
> 
> Emily: "Homemade Dynamite" by Lorde
> 
> If I don't see you all before then, I wish my American friends a happy Thanksgiving :)


	5. The Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to abuse

A week into Aubrey’s arrival, she finds herself increasingly frustrated by the lack of progress since day one. They’ve gone through reams of reports over and over, and though she doesn’t want to admit either she or Chloe was lacking, there’s simply nothing to go on. If George left any tracks at all, Henry spent his life thoroughly walking all over it.

It would be easy to blame Stacie, for all the bravado she carries around, but Stacie is full of surprises. Though she would never admit it out loud, Stacie’s technological savvy continues to impress with her myriad visualizations. Her own data, illustrated in maps and graphs that Aubrey herself could never have imagined, much less be able to accomplish. Even through months of careful observation, it still surprised her how much Henry Cole liked to dance, especially at one upscale club that she never paid attention to before. To break one’s life down into dots and dashes, numbers and letters—it’s strange how distant these men seem to be. How distant the six months she spent chasing them seems to be.

Not that this kind of information is helpful in any way.

None of this is enough, and Stacie knows it. Everything she has on the Cole family is out of date by now, and whatever Stacie stays up all night doing isn’t helpful either. Even with all the bells and whistles, the endless nights and long, long days, neither of them can _begin_ to guess where George Cole is now. They’ve gone down multiple avenues, and they’ve officially hit a wall.

Henry was easy. He was visible, frivolous, arrogant and wanted people to know it. He left tracks all over the place, and taunted his competitors with them.

George is the complete opposite. Cunning, vicious, and apparently a goddamn ghost.

She is _exhausted_. The bastard and his goddamn brother’s ghost keep her up, and it makes them all the more villainous.

Aubrey pulls the blankets tighter against herself and closes her eyes. She tries to focus on the warmth of the blankets. The comfort of the couch she’d carved her space into every night. The quiet clacking of Stacie’s keyboard on the other side of the room.

That woman isn’t human, she thinks as she often does, rolling over to her side to try and get comfortable. It’s hard not to respect her, but harder still not to admit she’s worried about her. Luckily, Aubrey isn’t one to back down from a challenge, and denial has long been a constant companion.

When footsteps approach, however, her ears perk. Her curiosity is a whole different story. Even her vitriol against the Cole’s take a backseat when someone comes to visit so late at night.

“Dude. You’re not even in pyjamas yet?”

Stacie’s chair squeaks. “Shit. Totally forgot to change.”

“Like, almost every day. Are you allergic to comfort or something?”

Beca. It’s always Beca at a time like this. It must be close to three in the morning—Aubrey had drifted off sometime in the night, only to be woken up by the same tired thoughts looping around like they never stopped.

“You seriously need to sleep. It’s been, what, five days?” Beca says. “Here, I brought some tea.”

Stacie’s chair squeaks again, and she shushes her, her voice quiet but still audible. “Quiet down, Bec—seriously. Aubrey’s sleeping. And no, it hasn’t—you’re exaggerating.”

“Jesus, look at your eyes. You look crazy. Keep this up, and you’re gonna start punching yourself soon like that movie you made us all watch a couple weeks ago. Do you even nap? How are you alive?”

Aubrey listens intently when Beca voices almost the exact same thought she’s been wondering for days now.

“Hey, hey, hands to yourself, Mitchell!” Stacie whispers harshly. “You had your chance.”

Aubrey shifts on the couch, as quietly as possible to sneak a peek at the women across the room. Unfortunately, nobody has made the effort to clean off the table in front of the couch, and the junk pile has only gotten higher with her paper files stashed on top. Try as she might, she’s snugly enclosed within the fortress, with only a brief glimpse at the light coming from Stacie’s projections.

“Dude, ew, you’re like my sister,” Beca replies. Aubrey wants to scoff at the strange sense of relief that fills her, but has just enough energy to ignore it—blame it on the lack of sleep and the months upon months of neglecting her libido. “Don’t even joke about that shit. I just wanted to see how bloodshot your eyes are.”

“It’s fine, Beca,” Stacie sighs. “Worry about yourself, you ding dong. You’re awake too.”

Aubrey frowns—did she seriously call someone a ding dong?

“I slept for like four hours after target practice today. Chloe’s getting pretty good.”

“Yeah? Did you feed your rabbit?”

“Chloe did—hey, don’t change the topic, dude, I’m serious.”

“Damn. Worth a shot. _Seriously_ , I’m fine.”

“Yeah, knowing you, I’m going to guess four hours in five days—that’s not fine, dude.”

A pause. “Wow, we spend _way_ too much time together,” Stacie concedes.

“I can ask Ashley to get some pills, if you want. Something with minimal side effects.”

“No, god, I hate taking pills. You know that.”

This doesn’t surprise Aubrey. Stacie is particular when it comes to what she puts in her mouth. It surprised Aubrey when she first started noticing, having had to adjust to the twelve-year-old-boy personality with the Victoria Secret model body in her first few days. She almost expected Stacie’s body to be dumb luck made of cheeseburgers and beer.

“Meditation?”

“Don’t bother, Beca—what haven’t I tried?”

“Okay,” Beca says, dragging out the syllables in thought, “what about calling, uh, someone to, um, help you sleep?”

Aubrey nearly slides off the couch. This doesn’t surprise Aubrey either—at least, it shouldn’t—of course, she’d have multiple lovers. Of course, she’s disgustingly flirty with every man or woman with a pulse. They, Stacie and Aubrey, as two attractive people working in close proximity, have an understanding, and that understanding stops at _special_. She _isn’t_ —nor does she want to be—special. And yet she hates that it feels like a kick in the stomach. She’s tired, so she stops the thought in its tracks and buries it deep into the furthest recesses of her brain.

Stacie laughs, drawing Aubrey’s attention back to the ethereal glow beyond the tower of garbage. “I’m horny, but I’m not irresponsible, god. I’m not risking it when we don’t know how much Cole knows.”

At least she’s responsible, Aubrey thinks, unable to resist rolling her eyes. She makes it sound like not having sex for a few weeks will kill her. Give the woman a trophy, she wants to scream.

“Uh huh. And not for any other particular reason?” Beca teases.

“No. What? Wipe that smile off your face, you asshole.”

“I called it—you said you were looking forward to this.”

Aubrey grips her blanket tightly—why the hell are they being so cryptic? Suddenly, her nose is itchy, and she pinches it and ducks under her blanket to silently swallow the sneeze. It hurts a little, but luckily doesn’t give her away.

“Don’t even start with me right now,” Stacie grumbles. “I’m so tired, and I’ll admit, _this_ doesn’t exactly make it easier.”

Stacie paused after _this_. What is _this_? Aubrey frowns.

“Figure it out with more sleep.”

“I don’t wanna hear it from the poster child for emotional constipation.”

Aubrey snorts, then quickly covers her mouth.

Beca goes on, fortunately, and it seems the coast is clear. “Okay, look Stace, I’m worried about you. Everyone is. And it’s not just you. You’re not at a hundred if you’re not sleeping properly, dude, and if anything happens… We all need you, okay?”

“I know,” Stacie says, her voice muffled as if she’s speaking into her palms. “I know…god, I know. I just…can’t help it. I can barely get an hour in without…”

Beca sighs. A long pause, followed by question: “Is it Sofia?”

And Stacie doesn’t say anything.

Who the hell is Sofia? Aubrey wonders.

“When did this start again?” Beca’s voice is quiet. Tentative.

“I don’t think it ever stopped,” Stacie says with a humourless chuckle. “I wish I could forget her and all the awful things she did, but I can’t stop hearing her voice, Beca. Every time we hit a dead end, there she is. Laughing at me. Everything I do—she’s standing there, telling me it’s not good enough. That I don’t deserve anything because I…don’t measure up. Especially after what I did. I know it’s a long time ago, but…I just can’t shake it.” Stacie takes a deep breath to calm her shaking voice. “Even if I could sleep, she and all the shit she put us through will just find me in my nightmares. Then the fucking spiralling never ends.”

When Stacie finishes, Aubrey lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Of all the things they have in common—and there were precious few things—never would she have expected chasing the approval of ghosts to be one of them. Aubrey presses a hand to her heart, and she doesn’t deny the sudden overwhelming camaraderie she feels in Stacie and the need to tell her it’s okay.

Luckily, Beca is there to do what she can’t. “Stacie, it’s okay,” she says gently, like she’s said this a thousand times before. “She’s with the devil now, and she can’t touch you. You’re fucking Stacie Conrad, and that woman can’t do half the things you do.”

Stacie sighs. “But...do you remember when we were sixteen…I broke my arm or something trying to show off my awesome parkour moves.”

“God, you were insufferable with you stupid parkour obsession. _And_ your stupid cast.”

“Yeah, but remember when she made me run through the obstacle course with you anyway? Something about giving myself a handicap with my own foolishness.”

“That sounds like her.”

“Yeah, and there was that part where we had to shoot these targets.”

“Oh…yes…”

“I got five out of six bullseyes with one arm and she _still_ locked me out of the house for the whole night. In the freezing rain! I had to sleep in that goddamn shed.”

“Oh yeah…I lost my dinner privilege when I tried to bring you an umbrella.”

“I _still_ think about the way she looked at me back then. Like I was…nothing, you know? Like, I know, I shouldn’t let it get to me after so long, but it’s hard…there are just nights where you believe it. Especially with _this_ and with Cole. It’s fucked up, Bec. _I’m_ the one who beat her, and _she_ ’s the one who wins?”

Beca doesn’t say anything for a while, and Aubrey angles a little closer. Finally, she says, “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we never left with her that day? If we just stayed in the orphanage until we turned eighteen, and eventually move out into the city and live off scraps.”

Stacie laughs. “Only all the time. She probably would’ve found ways to legally kidnap us anyway—well, me at least. I mean, imagine her _allowing_ us to be adopted by a loving, emotionally-healthy family?”

“What are we to you, then? Your subjects? Ow, okay, okay,” Beca laughs. “Look, my point is, I know it’s kind of different for you and Sofia, since I’m not blood. I was just the stray cat forever grateful to have been rescued. From day one, I knew what I meant to her because she never let me forget it. And she made me feel that if I didn’t matter to her, I wouldn’t matter to anyone. That if she didn’t love me, then nobody ever will.” She pauses. A sharp intake of breath. “It’s fucked up, but…I got you, Stace, so I know that’s not true. I hate everything she put us through, but if it weren’t for her, I’d never be able to grow up with you, and we would never be able to find our own family. And I hope that means more to you than the love of a dead woman.”

“Jeez, I hate when you get so sappy,” Stacie says, sniffing a little. Her voice is cracked, raw with emotion, and Aubrey’s heart, against her will, breaks again. “But I’m only crying because I hate when you’re right. And I’m exhausted.”

“I’m always right,” Beca huffs. “You gonna promise me you’ll at least _try_ to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, key word is try. Good night, Beca.”

“Sweet dreams, Stace.”

* * *

Stacie Conrad is a little bit in love with Aubrey Posen. She’s known this since the moment she set eyes on her picture in Chloe’s phone. She was smiling in that photo, carefree as she posed with Chloe and her ice cream cone. She was, even in that picture, the most beautiful woman Stacie has ever laid her eyes on.

So, of course she’s going to fall in love with her.

But it was the kind of love where your heart runs away from you for a few excited moments, and comes back thrilled from the experience. Like someone’s adorable dog who licks your hand and makes your day. Or, a shiny new part that solves a heat issue you’ve been having on a project for weeks.

She thought being a _little bit_ in love with Aubrey would be like being a _little bit_ in love with Jessica when she delivers fresh cookies to the lab, or a _little bit_ in love with Cynthia Rose when they crack a beer open together under a starry night. At most, it wouldn’t be more than the kind of transient love you feel for a stranger after a satisfying night.

Stacie doesn’t—can’t—do more than a _little_ bit of love. She’s not _built_ for more than that: too many issues; too many nightmares. It doesn’t leave room for a lot of love for her to hold onto. So, if it’s the kind of love that runs away from you…well, it’s supposed to be back by now. Because that little bit is all she has, and she can’t afford to give it away.

And yet.

As she stands at the bottom of the staircase, watching Aubrey play around with her glasses while she thinks nobody is looking, she realizes with horror that there is a slight chance her heart doesn’t even _want_ to come back.

What is she going to do if it doesn’t come back?

In a way that is so unlike anything else she’s experienced, Stacie is at a complete loss.

They’ve only known each other for just over a week. Aubrey is a woman who is her opposite in so many ways, and yet there are moments where Stacie catches glimpses of her behind the fortress she built around herself. It’s in the way she tries to hide her smile, cracks a sarcastic joke when she doesn’t really mean to. Her child-like competitiveness, her obsession with perfection, her protectiveness and tenderness toward Chloe, and the little moments of silliness she lets slip when she thinks nobody is watching—these are all things that Stacie has come to see almost every day. 

And she is helplessly smitten.

Aubrey turns and nearly drops the very expensive pair of glasses she’s in the middle of taking off. “Oh, fu—you scared me,” she says with a hand on her heart.

“Sorry. They look good on you,” Stacie replies with a smile she hopes doesn’t give away too much. “Keep them on.”

Aubrey tugs the glasses off her face and scowls a little as she looks away, flustered. Stacie swallows. She’s a _little_ _bit_ in love with her petulant side, the perfect foil to her composed, prim and proper façade. She waits, but Aubrey doesn’t yell at her.

She hasn’t called her annoying in a while. It’s easier when Aubrey gets mad. Easier when she calls her annoying and looks at her with eyes that say, “I’m thinking of at least sixteen ways to murder you right now.” When she doesn’t, it makes her wonder if Aubrey is _a little bit_ in love with her too, and that gives her heart hope. And hope, like a glass of brandy to a drunk, is just something she doesn’t need right now.

When did things change? Stacie wonders. _Have_ they changed? Or is she just sleep-deprived?

Stacie pulls on a smirk, though it feels like a pair of pants that no longer fit. “What? Can’t turn it on?” She teases, gently taking the glasses from her hands as she approached.

Aubrey looks up at her, big green eyes boring into her, and they both realize they’re standing too close. “You’re annoying,” she mumbles, leaning back against the workbench.

Ah, there it is.

That one little statement is magnetic. Then again, everything about Aubrey is magnetic.

Stacie laughs it off, but she hears the way that statement has evolved into something soft, and she sees the way Aubrey’s gaze flicks to her lips.

For a single moment, she lets her mind dream of what it would be like to push her up against this table and kiss her. The moment goes further, and she smothers down her imagination and closes her eyes.

Until a voice propels her back into the present: “What the hell are you doing?”

Stacie blinks. Aubrey is still in front of her, a step away, arms crossed, and thoroughly unimpressed. Stacie must’ve been staring. She clears her throat.

“Sorry, zoned out.”

“Yeah, I guess not sleeping for days on end will do that to someone,” Aubrey says, rolling her eyes.

Stacie shakes her head—she is _not_ about to go into this with Aubrey. So, she opens up the pair of glasses in her hand and holds it out in front of Aubrey’s face. “You wanna try this or not?”

Aubrey frowns, but it turns more into a pout, and Stacie laughs. Reluctantly, Aubrey moves into the the frame, and allows Stacie to put it on her.

It would be so easy to kiss her right now, Stacie thinks, her heart thumping. If she tries, would she stay still, pull her close, or push her away? And if she lets her, would she return the kiss? Would it be tentative, sweet, or passionate?

She has her hypotheses—she’s partial to the idea that they’d be a firestorm and a hurricane if given the chance to collide—and her mind runs the simulations, but she doesn’t put them to the test. Instead, she touches the hinge as she retracts her hands and watches the awe take over Aubrey’s expression as the lens turn blue. 

She’s so adorable, Stacie thinks, grinning as she steps back to give her space. Aubrey swings her head from side to side, like she’s seeing the world for the first time.

“What—these circle things! Oh my god, what is happening?”

“Relax, grandma,” Stacie laughs. “It’s just looking for a target. To scan, not to kill—don’t worry. Death glares are still metaphorical. Except when you wound me with yours.”

Aubrey ignores her as she stares hard at the toolbox on the workbench. “I can see inside it,” she whispers.

“That’s the point,” Stacie replies, thoroughly entertained by Aubrey’s childlike amazement. Is this what it’s like, she wonders briefly, when her walls are all the way down? Stacie exhales. She defaults to talking about work when the emotions start to get a little heady. “Those let Beca see things she can’t normally see, or understand things she normally wouldn’t with just her senses. Every move we take is meticulously planned. It lets me see what she’s seeing too, so I can run simulations and ping dangers she might not be aware of.”

“This is amazing,” Aubrey breathes. “Wow, there’s a _lot_ of stuff around my couch. And I finally know what things are—you know there’s a rubber duck in there, right? Oh, hold on, this is how you knew about Chloe, isn’t it? I can scan people?”

She turns to look at Stacie, and Stacie prickles. In the wake of everything else, she’d forgotten that’s an option, but she doesn’t make a move to duck away. Not when Aubrey looks so excited. So…happy, almost.

“Oh.”

Stacie sighs. She is going to find out eventually, she reasons to herself in spite of the sudden hammering of her heart.

Aubrey narrows her eyes. “You’re not as tall as I thought you were.”

Stacie chuckles and crosses her arms.

She waits for it.

“Huh, I’m not surprised you’re only three years younger, and yet I am at the same time.”

And waits for it.

“No criminal record? That _has_ to be false.”

And waits for it.

“Wait, what?” Aubrey squints. “You’re an _actress_?”

There it is.

“You made this up, didn’t you? Like I did with Chloe,” Aubrey demands.

Stacie laughs and shakes her head.

“No, I was actually quite impressed you did that, but I didn’t want to create inconsistencies with my identity.” She raises a brow, earning herself a solid glare. “So, I did the next best thing. Hide under the world’s nose.”

Aubrey tugs off her glasses, and points them at Stacie. “Wait a second,” she says, “let me get this straight. You’re an assassin.”

Stacie shrugs. “Semi-retired and not in the field anymore, but yeah.”

“And you thought being an _actress_ , a profession where your _name_ and _face_ is out in _public_ would be the best way to keep a low profile.”

Aubrey is staring now, studying and analyzing her hard, and it makes Stacie want to crawl out of her skin.

“I never said I’m famous,” Stacie says, putting up her hands. “Honestly, I barely qualify. Technically, I have, like, one credit to my name, in a role where no one expects anything from you ever. It just pays the bills.”

“Which movie?” Aubrey challenges.

“You will never know,” Stacie says with a laugh. She enjoys what she does, but it would be a stretch to say she’s proud of her work. With a woman like Aubrey—an intelligent, elegant, thorny rose of a woman—she’d rather not debase herself further quite yet. Or ever, for that matter.

But unexpectedly, and to Stacie’s absolute horror, Aubrey eyes grow wide. She knows. No, she _can’t_ know.

“It’s not a movie,” she gasps in realization.

There’s a long pause when Stacie simply gawks, because there’s just _no way_ she could guess correctly out of the blue. She schools her smile as best she can, but the butterflies swarm and—if this is true—she just wants to dig a hole and hide in it. She’s _absolutely_ sure that Aubrey wouldn’t be the type to watch this kind of programming, she tells herself weakly. She’ll make some inane guess, Stacie will laugh, and then they’ll postpone this conversation for the end of time. Yes, that’s the plan.

Aubrey squints now, and her mouth opens and closes—she’s still not sure, but it’s on the tip of her tongue.

Stacie rubs her damp palms on her shorts—god, why is she so nervous? It isn’t _that_ shameful, she tells herself as she squares her shoulders.

“You’re…you’re in _Car Babes_ ,” Aubrey whispers in disbelief. “Oh my god, I _knew_ you looked familiar. But you…you’re not _blonde_.”

Well, fuck.

Stacie grimaces. “I really didn’t peg you for a _Car Babes_ kind of girl.”

Aubrey blushes. “Well I…I like cars and I like…babes. I guess. We all need hobbies, okay?” She snaps.

Just when it seemed like Aubrey wouldn’t be able to surprise her anymore, Stacie manages to find a whole new doorway to fascination.

Stacie keeps her voice casual in an effort to change topics. “What’s your favourite car?” She asks.

Aubrey furrows her brows in thought. “I don’t know if this is my favourite car, but I’ve been a little obsessed with the Tuatara lately after their world record.”

Stacie nods enthusiastically. “There’s been a bit of controversy, but from an engineering perspective, a perfect homage to the harmony of man and nature and their hubris—not a bad choice at all, Miss Posen. Tuataras themselves are also fascinating creatures—adorable when they sunbathe—it’s the perfect name. Ever been to New Zealand?”

Aubrey chews the inside of her cheek, and Stacie has a sinking suspicion she isn’t going to let this go so easily. Damn. Can’t say she didn’t try. “I don’t—you’re clearly…” She closes her eyes, re-centers herself, and starts over. “Help me understand something. I hate that I have to say this out loud, but…you’re a smart person, Stacie. Right?”

Stacie laughs. “Not your average imbecile, remember?” She replies with a weak grin.

“Okay,” Aubrey says slowly, making vague gestures with her hands, “so why on _earth_ are you on a TV show about cars…a show where you can literally talk circles around _any_ of these dude-bros…but all I’ve ever seen you do is roll around on cars. As a job. As a job you _chose_ for yourself. Explain this, because— _why_?”

“First of all…” Stacie walks up to Aubrey and plucks the glasses out of her hands to place them on the bench behind her. Aubrey scowls when the space between them suddenly lessens dramatically, and something about the judgment in her comment and the flustered look on her face emboldens Stacie enough to get an extra rise out of her, so she holds her chin between her thumb and forefingers and leans a little closer. “You really enjoyed watching me roll around those nice cars, didn’t you? You wouldn’t remember me so well if you didn’t.”

Aubrey bats away her hand and glares, but says nothing. Stacie grins a little wider, feels a little more confident, keeping one hand on the bench to maintain their proximity. She’s even more pleased when Aubrey doesn’t move away. She simply crosses her arms and keeps her barriers up high, and Stacie prefers it that way for the sake of her traitorous, runaway heart. Even if she _really_ wants to kiss her right now.

“Second of all,” Stacie continues as coolly as she can despite how much dizzying the warmth radiating off Aubrey is, “I’m trying to create a cover and make an honest living for my family, not dazzle an audience and make my way to the Emmys. It’s perfect, if I do say so myself. Given the primary target of that show, not many people will search me up—I’m just attractive enough to fit into the mold. Not enough to stand out. My coworkers and I are generally lumped into one. We just have to make the cars look good while men talk about it in voiceovers. Almost nobody looks me up. Except when I’m in the calendar, I suppose.”

“The calendar!” Aubrey mumbles to herself, so quietly that Stacie thought she might have imagined it.

Stacie brushes it off when she recognizes the awful flicker of hope, and continues, “Even _if_ someone looks me up, they’ll see the blonde picture of myself I put up on Wikipedia, and see in the bio I wrote that I’m a single mom. Nothing wrong with being a single mom, but statistically, with that kind of demographic, the interest tends to stop there. It’s perfect.”

“So, you’re not a single mom,” Aubrey states drily.

“Not unless you count Beca,” Stacie says with a chuckle.

“Okay… this is…a lot. To take in,” Aubrey says slowly. “How long have you been doing this?”

“All eight seasons, babe.”

“What did we say about pet names?” Aubrey huffs.

Stacie rolls her eyes and pushes herself a step back. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. You’re clearly a fan. We’re filming season nine in a couple of months, by the way. You're welcome to come watch.”

“I’m not—ugh.” Aubrey scoffs. “I watch the show, but I never said I’m a fan. You’re—you’re so full of yourself!”

“Well, I don’t mind if you stare,” Stacie teases, kicking out her legs to catch Aubrey’s attention. She’s glad she’s wearing jean shorts today, because Aubrey definitely takes the bait. A victory even if she gets angry and walks away immediately after. “You can even take a bite, if you want,” Stacie calls after her.

“Shut up and get to work. We still have to find Cole,” Aubrey replies without turning.

Stacie smiles and shakes her head as she makes her way toward her computer, where Aubrey is already waiting for her, pretending to look at the map she put up earlier. The one upside to the work is that it keeps her occupied—she looks forward to it every day despite the frustrations of failure.

After all, it’s easier to stand next to the woman she’s a _little bit_ in love with when she doesn’t have to think about all the ways that same woman can break her heart.

* * *

Since Stacie properly vetted her love of literature and her knowledge of the Dewey decimal system, Chloe has been spending a lot of time in the library. It has come to be Chloe’s favourite place in this house, even more so once she was given permission to move the record player over from an abandoned study. The record collection she found is extensive. Its only flaw being that there aren’t any records from this century. Chloe doesn’t mind—it only adds to the comforting ambience of the room.

Shelving the books is becoming the perfect post-training routine, and she looks forward to it every day after an afternoon of battling her anxieties with a gun.

Occasionally, some of the other girls drop by. Jessica often visits with a snack, while Ashley mostly comes in to chat, especially when Jessica is cooking and she’s lonely. Once, Cynthia Rose dropped by with a few extra books, and stopped to compliment her on her music choice that day—an old Earth, Wind and Fire record. She asked if Chloe’s heard the Taylor Swift cover of “September”, and they became instant friends.

For the most part, her only companion on these beautiful early autumn afternoons is the little cart Ashley found for her. She’d pile up new books on the cart and travel between the shelves to figure out the best way to organize them while simultaneously reading a few pages of every book that goes through her hands. In her own little sanctuary, it’s almost easy to believe she doesn’t have a massive bounty on her head.

Today, she is humming along to Dolly Parton quietly singing at the centre of the room. The words she’s reading aren’t sticking, and it takes her almost a full song to realize it. She’s read the same two lines over and over in a birdwatching guide on top of the pile. Worse, when she goes to slip the book onto the shelf, she realized that she’s standing at the wrong shelf. Birdwatching doesn’t belong with military history, and she can’t remember why she’s in the military history section at all.

She takes in a deep breath and gives herself a light slap on the face to wake herself up. She’s been drifting off a lot lately, especially with her sleep quality eroded by nightmares and dead bodies.

And when she zones out, her mind seems to have a way of retreating to her safest place—Beca.

She can still feel her hand on her shoulder when she told her to relax as she lined up her sight on the target. The target, a glass jar Jessica gave them, exploded into pieces nearly two hours ago, and she’s still thinking about it.

She can’t help it, try as she might. Beca is just so cute. So strong. So… _safe_. Between their morning runs, lunch, shooting practice, and baby rabbit co-parenting, they spend most of the day together, and Chloe isn’t complaining. Over the last few days, Beca has proved herself to be patient and kind. She sees into Chloe in a way no one else has, and the way she studies her sometimes makes Chloe’s entire body tingle.

Plus, rain or shine, she’s beautiful when she runs and unforgivably sexy when she demonstrates her prowess with a gun. The two times she ran into her in the gym to watch her lift was also a sight to behold.

Chloe pushes her cart back out to centre of the room, and immediately stutters to a stop when she realizes someone is on one of the couches.

“Oh my god,” she whispers under her breath.

Lost in her own world in the corner of the library, she didn’t see or hear Beca come in. Did she summon her with her thoughts? It’s impossible and yet, there she is—curled up tightly under a blanket on the couch. It’s just as she thought when she first entered this room—Beca looks _so_ tiny and cuddly on this long couch.

She’s snoring softly, and it’s adorable.

But Chloe knows that sleep is a rare and beautiful thing for Beca, and she wants to let her catch it while she can. She abandons her cart and tiptoes to the record player. She is rooted to her spot, however, when Beca whines a little in her sleep. She sneaks a little peek, and god she wants more than anything to just cuddle up right behind her.

Alright, get it together, she tells herself as she lifts the needle and turns off the machine.

Not long after Dolly’s voice fades away, she hears a soft, “Chloe?” behind her.

Chloe turns stiffly, a sheepish smile plastered on. Beca is half-up, leaning on her elbow squinting at her with her blanket draping over her. She sweeps her hair out of her face and rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and Chloe bites her lip. “Hey, Becs,” she says with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, did I wake you? I was just, um, heading out.”

“It’s okay,” Beca says, her voice still rough with sleep. She brushes the corner of her lip with the back of her hand and grimaces—Chloe doesn’t see it, but she suspects drool from the embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “Uh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Been a while since I listened to that record. Do you…like Dolly?”

“Are you kidding?” Chloe says grinning. “‘Light of the Clear Blue Morning’ got me through _all_ my hardest times.”

“That’s a good one,” Beca grins, rubbing her eyes. She pauses, staring at Chloe vacantly for a few long seconds. “Guess you’re the one who’s been putting music on?” she asks as she sits up fully.

“Oh, um, yeah, Ashley and I found so many boxes of old records. I like having them on when I’m doing some shelving, but…um, I don’t have to do that…right now.” Chloe throws a thumb at the exit behind her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go? I feel really bad for ruining your nap.”

“I’m awake now,” Beca replies with a small smile. “But you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, okay. Totes,” Chloe says rocking on her heels nervously at the sudden dilemma presented in front of her. A part of her tells her it’d be safer to run away, maybe do a few more laps and hit the showers to calm herself. The other part _still_ wants to curl up next to Beca and listen to Dolly Parton for the rest of their days. “Totes,” she whispers again.

“Okay, you weirdo,” Beca laughs, stretching a little before unwrapping the blanket from herself and draping it over the couch. “Well, I’m kinda hungry, so I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Oh, me too!” Chloe says, wincing when it comes out about a thousand percent more eager than she wants to sound. “I’ll come with you.”

“Cool.”

Beca stretches more fully, yawns, and Chloe looks away when her black tank top rides up, exposing a strip of skin. Clearly oblivious to the mess of emotions running through Chloe, she unfairly flashes her a sleepy smile as she gets up off the couch. Chloe smiles back, and her heart nearly leaps out of her chest when she absentmindedly reaches out for Beca’s hand as she passes by her.

Luckily, she pulls it back in time, and with Beca’s back to her she takes the extra moment to pull herself together.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks, bounding after her.

“Yeah, surprisingly,” Beca replies.

“Any nice dreams?”

“Yeah,” Beca looks up at Chloe as she sidles up to her, still smiling as she recalls her dream. Chloe swallows and secretly hopes it isn’t the kind of dream that will bring out any green monsters, because really, she has enough confusion on her plate as it is. “Remember when the little carrot stick fell on Cotton’s paws this morning and she just kept it there while she chewed on it?”

“Oh my god, that was the cutest thing ever,” Chloe squeals.

“It was, wasn’t it? In my dream, I got this massive never-ending carrot,” Beca stretches her arms out dramatically to approximate the size, “and Cotton just rolled around with it in both paws. Sorry, it’s…kinda boring, but…it was really cute and Cotton got really fat at the end.”

Chloe giggles. “That’s not boring at all! It does sound really cute. I bet Cotton was super happy.”

“We should probably feed her after we eat.”

Chloe grins. It’s been almost a week since they decided on shared ownership of the rabbit, and though they easily could’ve designated the tasks associated with Cotton, they’ve somehow ended up doing almost everything together on most days. Not that Chloe minds. There is something oddly domestic about sweeping up and cleaning out the makeshift pen they’ve created on the balcony while Beca changes the straw and water. They may not talk much, but Beca’s presence is comforting. Extra bonus: Beca doesn’t mind her humming, and has asked her on several occasions what the songs were. Beca, she very quickly learned, doesn’t know any songs from the twenty-first century, but there’s a spark in her eyes whenever she talks about music, and Chloe can’t help but wonder if Beca is even aware of how much she loves it.

“Cotton’s gotten a lot fatter since we found her,” Chloe says. “I’m proud of her.”

“Yeah,” Beca says as they walk into the kitchen. “Go us.”

“Go us!”

They cross the threshold and are barely three steps into the kitchen when they both stutter to a stop.

Aubrey is sitting at the breakfast nook alone with a pale, shell-shocked look on her face and a mug in her hands. “Bree?” Chloe says, going up to her and sliding into the seat behind her immediately. She puts a hand on her back and calls her name again—worried now as she hasn’t seen her zone out like this since…

Chloe swallows, and hopes she’s just overthinking it.

Beca grabs something from the fridge and sheepishly points back to the hallway as she slides toward it to make her exit. Chloe nods and pushes the disappointment out of the way for other priorities. As much as she was looking forward to a nice snack with Beca, she’ll likely see her later anyway.

Aubrey’s paleness is a much bigger problem.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Chloe asks gently.

Finally, Aubrey startles and blinks at Chloe, as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, hey, Chlo. When did you get here?” She asked.

“Just now, but I called you a few times already. Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry,” Aubrey shakes her head. “Haven’t been sleeping too well lately.”

A guilty pang hits Chloe. For as long as they’ve known each other, Aubrey’s been there for her through thick and thin. She was her confidant, her protector, her friend and family when no one else was there. But the one time she wanted to try and repay a fraction of what Aubrey has done for her…she’d gotten them into this mess. And yet Aubrey is the one staying up late every night trying to get them out of it, while Chloe watches helplessly as her friend grows more exhausted by the day.

“Chloe, c’mon, don’t look at me like that,” Aubrey says softly. “You don’t need to feel guilty. None of this is your fault, okay?”

Chloe flushes with embarrassment. “Yeah, but…I hate that you’re burning yourself out like this and I’m just…sitting around. Taking care of a bunny and shelving books. There has to be something I can do to help.”

“I’m fine,” Aubrey says, nudging her in the shoulder with her own. “To be honest, I don’t feel all that useful either. It’s driving me kind of crazy.”

Chloe wraps an arm around Aubrey’s shoulders. “Aw, you’re just being modest, Bree.”

“Actually, I’m not,” Aubrey says. She turns to Chloe, who sits back when something in the air seems to shift. Aubrey takes a deep breath, pushes the empty mug away. She doesn’t meet Chloe’s eyes. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but…I’m worried about Stacie.”

“Oh…why?”

“She hasn’t slept for, like, five days, as far as I know. Nobody has seen her sleep. She just…doesn’t sleep. I haven’t even seen her nap. I mean, she _has_ to nap, but…I don’t know.”

Chloe’s jaw drops a little. “Five _days_?”

Aubrey nods. “I woke up suddenly and I heard Beca coming in to check on her last night at three in the morning. I think this is a problem she’s been having for a while. If even Beca sounded worried then…I don’t know.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything. She thinks instead of what Jessica told her on her second day—that Stacie’s insomnia is worse than Beca’s. Aubrey, however, must’ve misinterpreted her silence when she hastily adds, “If Stacie doesn’t sleep, it can really compromise everything we’re trying to do. That’s why I’m worried.”

Chloe tilts her head. Is Aubrey blushing? That can’t be. She shrugs it off—that’s not important right now. “So, what are you going to do?” She asks instead.

“W-what do you mean what am _I_ going to do? She’s not my responsibility,” Aubrey says a little too loudly.

Chloe furrows her brow. “But you’re the one who’s worried. So…”

“Oh. Well. I…I stand by what I said.”

This is starting to feel weird.

Chloe crinkles her brow, thoroughly confused. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Bree?”

To her surprise, Aubrey buries her face in her hand and groans. “Oh my god, Chloe, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask, but there’s also something…ugh, I need to get it out or I’m going to explode.”

“Woah, okay, slow down—no exploding, okay?” Chloe says, straightening up quickly with alarm. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Aubrey whines into her hands, “but this is…embarrassing, okay?”

“Okay…”

Over the last week, they haven’t had much opportunity to spend time together, just the two of them. Every time she went down to the lab, Aubrey and Stacie would just bicker. She isn’t sure what to expect—she’d been assuming everything was business as usual downstairs. She just hopes Stacie didn’t do anything to hurt Aubrey or vice versa.

Aubrey lifts her head and takes a deep breath. She throws a quick glance up at Chloe, then drops her gaze back to her empty mug on the table. “So, this morning, I was playing around with Stacie’s glasses…”

“Oh! The ones Beca was wearing when we met? They’re cute.”

“Yes…cute,” Aubrey says with a frown. “They’re also capable of gathering information about people and objects in real time. It’s connected to some kind of database, which is how they knew your cover job. Beca must’ve just _looked_ at you and saw all this stuff about you.”

“Oh.” Chloe remembers Beca saying they’d been watching her before they’d even met. Not for the first time, she can’t help but wonder what Beca saw that day.

“Yeah, so Stacie was just standing there, being…annoying.” Aubrey pauses in thought, and Chloe takes note of the pink on her cheeks. She really is blushing—interesting. Now she’s curious about the memory Aubrey recalls—there must be more to this story than meets the eye. Chloe tries not to smile too wide. Aubrey clears her throat. “Anyway, I scanned her.”

“Oh! Did you find anything?”

Aubrey nods gravely. “I found her day job.”

Chloe squeals, vibrating with excitement as she leans closer. She’d told Aubrey about the second job Jessica mentioned days ago, but neither had enough headspace to care. Now it feels like Aubrey’s about to uncover the juiciest secret on earth.

“Do you remember when I told you in confidence that something about Stacie feels very familiar?”

“Oh, totes! I felt it too!” Chloe squeals.

“Yes, well, that’s because she’s an ‘actress’,” Aubrey puts the air quotes around the word, “on _Car Babes_.”

“Like…the calendar in our kitchen?”

“Well, y-yes,” Aubrey stammers, “but also the show! She’s on the show, okay?”

Chloe’s jaw really drops this time. She thinks back hard to the last time she watched that show with Aubrey—it feels like years ago—but all she can remember is bits and pieces of a conversation they had. “Oh my god,” Chloe murmurs. “The last time we watched that show together, you got so mad at me when I said all the models kind of looked the same. Like, you can’t tell them apart aside from their skin and hair colour because they all look so similar. And… and you said…” Chloe trails off as her eyes widen in realization.

“I said you can recognize them by their legs and ass,” Aubrey mutters, slowly dropping her face back into her hands. “I had a lot of wine that day, okay?”

“Uh, no,” Chloe says, her lips stretching into a wide grin Aubrey refuses to see, “ _you_ said, you can recognize your _favourite_ babe by her ass and legs, so I’m guessing…”

“ _Don’t_ , Chlo. She is _so_ not my favourite. I-I mean, you can’t—everyone is attractive—it’s—that’s the whole premise of the show!”

“But—”

“No buts Chloe—please. I don’t…I don’t even know _how_ to think about all of this right now. And you know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“Her favourite car is the Toyota Prius. She called it the engineering masterpiece that saved the world. Not even _changed_ the world. It _saved_ the world. Can you believe her?”

“Oh my god, she has a _favourite car_?” Chloe says, no longer able to contain her laughter.

Aubrey raises her head. “Why are you _laughing_? This isn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says in between her giggles. “But it is kind of funny.”

“Chloe,” Aubrey frowns.

“Sorry!” Chloe takes a deep breath and wipes a tear to try and calm down. When she does, she keeps the gooey grin. “It’s just that… oh my god, like, your dream girl literally just fell into your lap. And she’s totes been in love with you since day one, but you think she’s annoying—Bree, this is _everything._ ”

“This isn’t one of your romcoms, Chlo,” Aubrey snaps loudly, “and she is _not_ in love with me. She’s got people on speed dial for that.”

Chloe opens her mouth to tease her about the jealousy seeping through her tone, but the scowl on Aubrey’s face is enough of a cue to back off. She’ll save that tidbit for another day.

Aubrey isn’t the type to follow her heart, and Chloe can admit she’s never been a fan of the clinical, logical way she approaches relationships. And she’s _definitely_ not a big fan of the boring pantsuits Aubrey tended to gravitate toward. Granted, not many stuck around long enough for her to like. But she likes Stacie. Stacie isn’t afraid of Aubrey, nor is she the type to take advantage of Aubrey’s loyalty—not when her own loyalties seem to drive everything she does. They’re both protective of their family, kinder than they give themselves credit for, and they’re both smart as hell. Chloe wants to scream about how adorable they’d be together, but for Aubrey’s sake she puts on her best calm expression.

“Maybe you can help her with the sleeping problem,” Chloe says with an innocuous bat of her eyes.

“W-what? I’m not gonna—oh my god, Chloe, no!”

Chloe raises her brow, and takes in the very clearly flustered expression on Aubrey’s face. It takes a moment for realization to dawn. “Oh my god, not like that!” Chloe cries. Unless you want to, you should definitely go for it, she adds internally. “I just meant, I don’t know, tuck her in, read her a story, whatever.”

“I’m not her _mother,_ ” Aubrey exclaims, aghast.

Chloe shakes her head and laughs. “Well, Bree, then I guess you better follow your heart.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Beca pokes her head into the library when she hears Billie Holiday’s velvety voice float into the hall. She’s been going down this hallway a lot recently, and there’s no denying the reason.

She misses listening to music. Before Chloe, it’d been years since she secretly rifled through Sofia’s collection when she was away. She could still remember the thrill, the joy that washed over her when she sat on the floor and simply listened. Billie Holiday reminds her of being twelve years old, laying on the carpet of Sofia’s study, closing her eyes as “April in Paris” takes her far, far away. Of course, she also remembers falling asleep and Sofia’s fury, followed by another night locked up in the cold shed by the greenhouse.

That fucking shed. She and Stacie blew it up the afternoon of Sofia’s funeral and it’s still one of the most cathartic moments of her life.

She catches a glimpse of red hair, and her heart stutters, pulling her out of her memories. She leans further into the room and sees Chloe standing by the shelf, flipping through a book. She absently tucks a lock of hair behind her ears, and Beca is astounded once again by her beauty.

She lets go of a breath she doesn’t realize she was holding when it becomes hard to breathe, and somehow, it catches Chloe’s attention over the music. And she turns, smiling that brilliant, beautiful smile of hers that twists Beca’s insides up like nothing else.

“Hey, Becs,” she says with a little wave.

“Uh, hi,” Beca says, eyes darting around, unsure of whether she should move closer or further away from Chloe’s magnetic pull. “You’re always in here.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, holding up her book. “Music and literature—two of humanity’s greatest accomplishments.”

Beca decides to move closer, earning her a grin, and it’s fine even if she can’t breathe sometimes when she’s so close to Chloe. She picks up a book from Chloe’s cart, feigning interest to distract herself from Chloe’s eyes.

“That one looks really good,” Chloe says excitedly. “I set it aside so I can read it later. It’s mostly non-fiction in here, so it’s exciting to see fiction from this decade. Do you like to read? I see you with, like, Camus or Tolstoy or anybody French or Russian, really. Real moody stuff.”

Beca flushes. “Uh, I don’t…read that well, actually,” she says, putting the book down as the heat of shame fills her face. “Like, I can read,” she adds quickly. “I’m just…really slow, so I don’t enjoy it very much.”

“Oh!”

Beca doesn’t look up from the book she’d put down—she doesn’t want to see the pity. So, she simply explains, “I was really young when I came here. We were homeschooled, of course, and I wasn’t a very good student, but…I was a very good soldier. Stacie was both, so after a while, our…guardian, I guess you can call her, just stopped wasting her energy on me.” She shrugs a little. “I was fine with it—not like we had a lot of free time between missions to be reading anyway.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything at first. When Beca finds the courage to look up, Chloe’s expression is unexpectedly pained. “But… don’t you ever wish you could get away from everything and live in someone else’s head for a while?”

“I guess? I’ve never really thought about it,” Beca admits.

“Ugh, I can’t believe someone would deprive a child of that,” Chloe says with a frown. “What an awful person.”

This makes Beca laugh, much to Chloe’s confusion. “That’s the understatement of the century, Chlo,” she says with a shake of her head.

“Well, she sucks and she’s not here, so I think we should give it a try,” Chloe says vehemently. “Everyone deserves a vacation from your own head once in a while!”

“I don’t know,” Beca says, still smiling despite the nerves now snaking through her from the determination burning in Chloe’s eyes. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t tried picking up a book now and again. I just don’t ever make it past the first couple pages.”

Chloe hums as she taps the book in her hand against her open palm. “Oh!” She says suddenly. “Aubrey—of course! I have an idea.”

Without warning, she takes Beca’s hand and abandons her cart, dragging her across the room to turn off the music and grab a book from a different shelf. Before Beca can express her confusion, she takes her to the couch. She was just getting used to the butterflies radiating from Chloe’s hand when Chloe sits down, slipping the book between her leg and the armrest. Then, she pats the tops of her thighs with both hands.

“Um, what?” is all Beca manages as she gapes at her, bewildered.

“Put your head here, silly,” Chloe says like it’s the most normal request in the world.

“Dude, no,” Beca says, feeling the warmth return to her face with a vengeance.

“Beca,” Chloe says with a little pout.

“No.”

“Please?”

“…no.”

“Pretty please?”

Beca groans. “T-this is weird,” she grumbles.

“Aubrey and I sit like this all the time,” Chloe insists. “It’s what friends do. I mean…we _are_ friends, right?”

Beca hesitates, frowning when Chloe turns the puppy eyes up to an eleven.

“Yes. Fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Beca says, scowling when Chloe beams. God, you’d jump off a bridge if Chloe asked, wouldn’t you? She berates herself.

Yes, returns a voice that sounds far too much like Stacie. You absolutely would because you’re such a goober for Chloe. She gives mental Stacie a swift kick to the knee.

Slowly, she lays her head down on Chloe’s lap. Chloe then reaches over to grab the blanket and drapes it over Beca. “Relax, Beca, you’re so tense. This is supposed to be fun, okay?”

“Sure. Fun,” Beca mumbles. “And normal. Not weird at all.”

“You’re gonna love this,” Chloe says, propping one elbow on the armrest with the open book. She drapes her other arm across Beca’s front to keep her in place. Beca tenses—surely, this is _far_ too intimate even among friends, right? Did she completely misconstrue Chloe and Aubrey’s relationship?

Chloe, completely oblivious and completely unsympathetic to Beca’s spiralling, clears her throat and starts to read.

“Chapter one,” she starts to read, “‘The Boy Who Lived.’”

Beca frowns, but Chloe simply runs a hand down her face and shushes her until she closes her eyes. She reads on, ignoring Beca’s squirming protests. “This story is stupid,” she comments, about ten minutes in, only to have Chloe’s hand come down over her mouth. Beca rolls her eyes, but Chloe holds it there, reading nonchalantly, until she stills. It’s a story about normal people she has nothing in common with, she thinks, but she’s toasty warm and Chloe’s lap is comfortable. It’s nice, she admits. And as the minutes continue to stretch, the story starts to take its hold. Trade in the orphan boy in a closet for an orphan girl in a shed, and it isn’t so far off from her own life. Soon, she finds herself enraptured—comfortable and exceedingly sleepy, but captivated. Transported.

She doesn’t want this vacation to ever end.

* * *

“Yo, Stace, I heard you haven’t been sleeping.”

Stacie spins around and flashes a lopsided smile when Cynthia Rose walks up to her with two beers in hand. “That my reward?” Stacie says, pointing at the bottles.

Cynthia Rose shakes her head with a resigned smile. “Sure,” she says, handing her one of the beers before taking a seat in Aubrey’s empty chair. “Can I sit here?” she asks belatedly, pointing to her seat. “Where’s Aubrey?”

“Not sure, actually. We finished up a little while ago, and she said she had to go find something. Why? You thinking of trading in your hot lawyer girlfriend?” Stacie teases.

CR smirks. “Bitch, I ain’t gonna go around poaching your girl. And honestly? I am _not_ going back to white girls. Y’all have _way_ too many issues to work through.”

Stacie playfully rolls her eyes. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was _so_ _horrible_ being with me,” she says drily. She deliberately ignores the first comment, though she can’t deny she likes the way it sounds. Even if Aubrey doesn’t seem to be the type to belong to anybody.

“The absolute worst two weeks of my life,” CR replies solemnly.

“I’d say the same, but you were actually very sweet,” Stacie laughs, popping open the cap against the edge of her desk. “We sucked romantically, but I’m happy to be your stepping stone toward the wonderful Miss Reyes.”

“Hear, hear,” CR says, clinking the necks of their bottles together.

They take a swig in silence, and Stacie smiles. It’s been a long time since the two of them had a moment to sit down and have a beer together. It’d been a long time since she’s had a beer with anybody, really, but there was a time when she and CR would spend the evening by the poolside, chatting about everything and anything while they admired the stars and drank a beer or two. She doesn’t remember when or why they stopped doing that.

“Hey, Lilly says she’s been hearing some chatter on the streets about Cole. She didn’t tell me any details, but I suspect she’ll be dropping in for a visit soon. Just letting you know—she told me I should stay in the city for a bit, so…I’ll be driving back tonight.”

Stacie sighs. “Yeah, a couple mercs have been bragging about getting close—Lily probably knows better than the shitstorm online. I mean, a million bucks—it’s like the Hunger Games out there.”

CR nods. “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

Stacie shakes her head. “I don’t know. Probably. I’ve been trying to figure a lot of things out. Just can’t seem to stop my brain—you know how it is.”

“Not really,” CR laughs. “Sounds awful, though.”

“It is what it is,” Stacie sighs, shrugging a shoulder. “So, how are things, C? All good in paradise?”

Cynthia Rose snorts. “It’s been chaotic. Short on social workers, as usual, and the chump change those tech guys donated didn’t go very far, especially for the amount of progress they were demanding.” She waves a hand. “You don’t wanna hear me complain about work though.”

“I don’t mind. You can talk to me about anything, y’know. Did Ashley send you our monthly donation?”

“Yeah, thank you for that, by the way. I really appreciate it, and I know the kids do too.” Cynthia Rose leans back in the chair and takes another sip of her beer. “You remember the kid I told you about a couple weeks back? The one who was beaten within an inch of his life for dealing in the wrong turf.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Stacie says, wincing.

“He survived, thank god. Trying to make him go back to school now. Anyway, we found out he worked for Henry Cole.” CR shakes her head. “Nasty bastard doesn’t care what happens to his people. He just kept pushing kids past into other people’s boundaries—no respect for anyone but himself. If the Giordanos didn’t put the hit out first, I probably would’ve commissioned you guys myself. It’s exhausting, man.”

“You wouldn’t,” Stacie says with a chuckle, “but thanks for thinking of us.

“Maybe I would. I’m getting old. Starting to give less fucks and all that. Tired of all this bullshit.”

“Me too,” Stacie says, giving her friend a wry smile. “It never ends. If it’s not Cole, it’s the Giordanos running drugs. If not them, then it’s the next upstart with a gun from Walmart.”

“Poetic.”

“Sad, is what it is. The world is such a dumpster fire.”

CR leans forward then, and leans her elbow on the desk to rests her head against her fist. “Serious question, Stace. What are you thinking of doing when you finally get out?”

Stacie raises her brow. “Why do you assume I want to get out?”

Rightly, Cynthia Rose looks unimpressed. “Girl, you’re gonna get burnt out before you turn forty–no, y’know what? Thirty-five. I bet you won’t even last three more years. You’re already barely sleeping.”

Stacie hums. “You could be right.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, even three years is too far into the future to think about.”

“That,” Cynthia Rose says, jabbing her index finger in Stacie’s direction, “that is exactly your problem. You and Beca both—you don’t let yourselves dream, girl. Me, I wanna take my queen on a nice tropical vacation someday—get away from it all, y’know? I’ve been thinking of white beaches, and bikinis and martinis and all that Katy Perry shit. I don’t even care where—maybe the Maldives? I’ve been thinking of kids too. Maybe a dog. It’s the little things _and_ the big things, yeah?”

Stacie pictures the beach. The only time she’s ever been to the beach is on a shoot—season 6 of _Car Babes_. They pretended to play volleyball, splashed each other in the ocean, and dripped their wet bodies onto an Alfa Romeo Spider. The beach was pretty. A bit murky out in California, but pretty.

Aubrey must’ve loved that episode, she thinks with a chuckle. Every girl was practically nude—the makeup process was torturous, she remembers. Damn, Aubrey would look good in a bikini. Wet skin on an Alfa Romeo. Stacie sighs a little—she wouldn’t mind living CR’s dream.

“Yo, Stace!” A snap next to her face jostles her out of her imagination. She blinks over at CR, who looks back with an amused smirk. “I don’t know where you went, but telling from that creepy-ass smile on your face, it must’ve been nice.”

“Just thinking about your dream,” Stacie replies, taking a sip of her beer to hide her embarrassment.

“Yeah? Enough to finally inspire you to get your own?”

“Nah, I’ll just borrow yours,” Stacie chuckles. 

CR raises a brow. “You want a wife and kids too?”

Stacie chokes, the amber liquid dribbling down her chin as she scrambles upright in her seat, coughing. Her imagination gives her a glimpse of Aubrey in a white wedding dress, but she shuts it down as she slams her bottle on her desk. It feels like an eternity before the air rushes back into her lungs, and she hates how amused Cynthia Rose looks as she watches on. “Jesus,” she mumbles, grabbing a tissue to wipe down her chin.

“You alright?”

“Yeah—just went down the wrong pipe,” Stacie says, waving a hand.

“Yeah? Not because you surprised yourself by wanting a wife and kids?”

Stacie gapes. “What—I don’t—dude,” she says, shaking her head. “Me—married. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah, actually,” Cynthia Rose says with a shrug. “I’ve always thought you might be a secret romantic. Like I said, you don’t let yourself dream enough, girl.”

“Wait”—Stacie’s eyes widen with realization— “ _you_ want to get married? To Kat?”

CR is quiet for a moment. She looks down at the beer bottle, where she’s picking at the label. Her complexion is too dark to see her blush, but the sentiment is there. Stacie sits up straighter. Finally, Cynthia Rose runs a hand through her hair with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I don’t know,” she mumbles, “I’ve been thinking…of asking her to marry me, maybe? I don’t know—I’ve just been thinking about it. Maybe it’s stupid.”

“Oh my god,” Stacie breathes, rolling her chair closer. “CR! Are you serious? That’s _amazing_!” She squeals, grabbing Cynthia Rose by the arm. “I mean, that’s huge! When are you going to do it?”

“Slow _down_ , girl,” Cynthia Rose cries. “I said I’m _thinking_ about it. I mean, I don’t even know if she’ll say yes. She’s so, like…awesome, y’know? She’s beautiful and smart and—and—the complete package.”

Stacie smiles and nudges her knee with her own. “Well, so are you.”

CR rolls her eyes. “You’re, like, one of my best friends—you _have_ to say that.”

“Um, correction: I’m one of your best friends whom you fucked. I think I get _some_ say in this. ‘Cause, like, not to toot my own horn, but I have impeccable taste in who gets to touch _all_ of this,” Stacie says, gesturing down the length of her own body.

Cynthia Rose snorts. “Yeah, you really don’t. Look, girl, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but all of us have a quarterly bingo game going on where we check off mediocre character traits of people you choose to sleep with. So far, Jess is reigning champion with two wins.”

Stacie’s mouth drops open. “ _Excuse me_? You’re shitting me, right?”

“Nah, girl,” Cynthia Rose says with a grin. “She got bingo on fedora, pigtails, porn star bedroom voice, unkempt beard, and I think baby talk. I honestly don’t even know where you find these people.”

“Oh my _god_ , baby talk brings back flashbacks.” Stacie shivers. “She was hot though. But seriously, what the fuck?” She slaps CR across the shoulder, and other than a brief moment where she thought she might drop her beer, CR continues to look entirely too smug. “You guys are so rude. I’m never telling any of you anything ever again.”

“Sorry, but you know you can’t resist,” Cynthia Rose laughs. “It’s a good thing your Hunter won’t be hunting anymore then, isn’t it? It’s too bad—Ashley and I were tied this quarter.” 

Stacie squints. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

CR nudges her leg with her own this time. “You know what I mean, girl,” she says, grinning.

“I don’t.”

“Oh, you do,” Cynthia Rose practically sings. “I’ll just say that all of us—including bingo champion, Jessica—are fucking relieved. It was fun while it lasted, but I think it’s a damn good sign blondie doesn’t check any of the boxes on our board.”

“It’s not like that,” Stacie replies without enthusiasm. “I mean, they’re going home.”

Cynthia Rose whistles. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Beca won’t be happy, but she’ll move on. We both will. We’re good at that. Besides,” Stacie picks up her smile and her beer, and clinks the base of it against Cynthia Rose’s, “we’ve got a wedding to look forward to.”

“But, y’know—”

“Hey, C? Let’s focus on you tonight,” Stacie says with a lightness she doesn’t feel. “I wanna know what you’ve been thinking for your proposal.”

* * *

Around eleven o’clock, Jessica slides into bed and curls up against Ashley, who is sitting against the headboard typing away on her laptop. Without a word, Ashley tucks Jessica’s hair behind her ears and bends down to plant a kiss on her temple.

“Tired, baby?” Ashley says. Jessica makes a noise and nods against her. “Talk time or sleep time?”

Jessica rolls back a bit, her arm still draped around Ashley’s middle. She pouts. “I’m sleepy, but I want to talk,” she says.

“Okay,” Ashley laughs, pulling the lid off her laptop closed and placing it on her bedside table. She tugs her wife against her and wraps her arm around her, absentmindedly playing with her hair as Jessica lays her head on her stomach. “Did you have a good day today?”

“I missed you,” Jessica mumbles sleepily.

“Yeah?” Ashley chuckles. “I went on the weirdest scavenger hunt today with Aubrey. She was looking for a sheet of paper of some kind. I have no idea. That woman is kind of scary. I think this was the first time she talked to me.”

“Really? I guess I’m not surprised. Her walls are very high.”

Ashley nods. “Her and Chloe are an interesting pair. Chloe is soooo sweet and friendly, and Aubrey is…not that. Is that mean to say?”

“As if you know how to be mean,” Jessica says, taking her hand playing with her hair to kiss her palm. “Aubrey is not a bad person. I like her. She’s no-nonsense.”

“She is—she’d be good for Stacie, even if I’m a little disappointed about the bingo—I really thought I was going to win this quarter,” Ashley said, shaking her head.

Jessica’s quiet laughter is felt more than hard, the vibrations radiating warmly through Ashley. “If they survive the next couple weeks, I’ll make a new board. I have a few ideas.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Stacie shuts up to stare at Aubrey. Stacie openly checks out Aubrey’s ass. Stacie teases Aubrey until she storms out. Stacie mentions Aubrey three times within a minute. Stacie sighs and stares into space. Lots of ideas.”

Ashley looks down and caresses Jessica’s cheek. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” She teases.

“Maybe I had too much time in my thoughts today while I was cleaning out the fridge and pantry. I can’t wait to get away with you tomorrow,” she sighs. “I love the girls, and I love feeding and talking to them, but I’m pretty socialed out.”

“It’s a good thing I booked us a nice restaurant after our Costco trip then,” Ashley says proudly. “I was thinking we could head back to the apartment after that and watch a movie. A real dinner and date situation.”

“Mmm, I’d love that,” Jessica says, snuggling closer. “Oh, Lilly came by today. Scared me as usual. She snuck up behind me while I was doing the dishes to whisper ‘ham and egg sandwich’ in my ear.”

“Oh no!” Ashley says, laughing. “Did you do your adorable little yelp? I can picture it.”

Jessica slaps her lightly on the thigh. “ _Now_ you’re being mean. Anyway, I made her the sandwich, and we caught up a bit. Apparently, she’s the one who made the hole in the fence a week ago. I’m not sure how she managed it.”

“Not sure how Lilly does most things,” Ashley agrees.

“It’s a good thing we’re going to Costco tomorrow,” Jessica says. She pauses to yawn and stretch, then wrap herself tightly against Ashley’s side. “Lilly said it might be a good idea to stay put in the city for a bit.”

“Ooh, extended vacation?”

“Yeah, Costco _and_ Target.”

“But they said it couldn’t be done!” Ashley gasps in mock horror.

Jessica laughs. “Dork. We’ll see. We might even have time to go to a _mall_.”

“Oh my god!” Ashley cries, throwing up her hands. “Jess, my darling, you’ve officially lost your mind.”

“Seriously though, I want to buy new clothes.”

“Considering you’ve so generously lent out half your closet, I’ll buy you anything you want, babe,” Ashley says, affectionately stroking her hair. “Within reason, of course. We can stop by a book store too—Chloe also gave me a list of books she wants to get for the library—oh! There’s something else too. A gift for Beca. Don’t let me forget.”

Jessica looks up at Ashley, brows knit in confusion. “A gift for Beca?”

“Yeah—from Chloe,” Ashley grins. “It’s a secret.”

Jessica lifts her head and frowns. “Tell me.”

But Ashley pulls an invisible zipper across her lips and shakes her head.

“Ashley…”

“It was a pinky promise,” Ashley emphasizes.

“Tell me,” Jessica says again. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, her gaze now level with Ashley’s. Slowly, she raises a hand and wiggles her fingers, her eyes flashing with her best impression of menacing. “I’m going to tickle you if you don’t.”

Ashley pulls the blanket up to her chest, eyes wide. “Please don’t.”

“Then?” Jessica climbs onto Ashley and straddles her lap. “You know I hate secrets,” she says, leaning in with a pout. Her fingers, however, are already finding their way along Ashley’s side.

“I can’t tell you,” Ashley says, shrieking into a fit of giggles when Jessica pulls down the blanket and digs into her side. “Oh my god, stop,” she whines, squirming around the bed. “Please—mercy!”

“No way, Miss Jones, you’ve been harbouring state secrets, and for that you must be punished,” Jessica says gravely, as pushes her fingers beneath Ashley’s pyjama shirt, grinning as her entire body worms around, trying to break free.

“Sto—p! You’re gonna make me fart!” Ashley groans between wheezing breaths. “You’re so unfair.”

Jessica crosses her arms, a triumphant smirk slowly spreading across her face. Ashley wipes a tear with the back of her hand and takes several breaths to make up for all that she lost earlier. “I win,” Jessica declares.

“And you said you were sleepy,” Ashley grumbles. She swiped her hair out of her face—still red from Jessica’s tickle torture. Jessica raises both hands again, triggering an immediate shriek from Ashley. “Okay, okay, you win! I’ll tell you.”

Jessica laughs, then leans down to press a quick kiss to Ashley’s pouting lips. “Good.”

* * *

It’s ten to midnight when Stacie stretches in her chair and picks up her dinner tray. She’s thinking about putting her dishes into the dishwasher then going to the gym for a short work-out when Aubrey suddenly appears behind her and she nearly drops everything.

“Shit, you scared me,” she mumbles. When Aubrey doesn’t immediately reply, she looks up from the toppled glass on her tray to see her with her arms crossed and frowning at the floor. Usually, this doesn’t happen until Stacie does, well, literally anything, but this time she’s pretty sure she’s innocent. Unless she did something to annoy her earlier, though she can’t recall what it could be.

“You okay?” She asks tentatively.

“What are you doing?” Aubrey says, reluctantly meeting her eyes. She’s snappier than usual, and Stacie wouldn’t normally mind, but she _is_ confused. She racks her brain for anything that she might have done, but they spent most of the afternoon working. Pretty well, Stacie thought. They found a tip about a new supplier in town, traced a connection back through Aubrey’s files, and spent the afternoon triangulating their location and approximating their relationship to Cole. Then, Aubrey disappeared for a while and she hadn’t seen her since.

Unless...did she push too far this morning? Is it the actress thing? Stacie would smack herself for revealing that to her so early on, but her hands are full.

“I’m… going upstairs to do the dishes?” Stacie says slowly.

“It’s midnight,” Aubrey says.

“Yes…?”

Aubrey runs a hand through her hair and the frustration in her face is adorable, even if Stacie is still at a loss.

“Do them tomorrow,” Aubrey says firmly.

And Stacie is a _little bit_ in love with her commanding tone—she really is— _but_ , “Excuse me?”

“Put that stuff down. You’re doing it tomorrow.”

“Okay…?” It’s the urgency of Aubrey’s voice, Stacie tells herself, that has her obeying without question. She turns back to her desk and sets the tray down.

Her hands are free, and she is thankful she listened when the next thing to come out of Aubrey’s mouth is, “Take me to your room.”

Otherwise, there would be a lot of broken dishes.

“Um…” As imagination and confusion race laps around Stacie’s mind, her ability to communicate all but collapses. She opens her hands, not quite sure what to do with any of her limbs. Because _surely_ , she doesn’t mean…

Aubrey smirks.

She _smirks_.

Stacie feels her face light up, feels her heart about to explode. She narrows her eyes. It can’t possibly be, but _is she seriously asking what she thinks she’s asking_? Please say yes. Wait, does she want her to say yes?

Stacie realizes suddenly that she still hasn’t said anything, so she opens her mouth. Then, she closes it. Because _what the hell is she supposed to say to her_?

“Why am I not surprised that you have _no_ game after all the harassment I’ve endured since I got here?” Aubrey says. She laughs quietly, shaking her head. Something prickles inside Stacie at the sound, a rare, genuine sound of joy she’d never had the pleasure of causing. It’s almost enough to offset the embarrassment burning to the tip of her ear.

She _does_ have game, she wants to say. But it’s _Aubrey._ It’s this…this little bit of _something_ that throws her off. She doesn’t say it out loud—she can’t—so she picks her ego up off the floor and attempts to fill the room with it.

I’m just surprised it took you this long to realize how much you want me, Stacie says.

Except she forgets to say it out loud, and she’s still opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. God _dammit_ , she’s giving Aubrey _way_ too much power over her.

“Okay, I see that you’re malfunctioning,” Aubrey says, her smirk growing wider—that smirk! “So, I’m just going to say it. You _really_ need to sleep. Since you’re refusing to take responsibility for your deprived brain cells, I’m stepping in.”

“What?” Stacie manages. Her entire mouth feels dry.

“Even if we find something on Cole, you’re gonna mess up the entire case if you don’t sleep. That’s why I’m going to help you. That is the _only_ reason why I’m helping you, so you can wipe that damn smile off your face and stop flattering yourself.”

Stacie didn’t even realize she was smiling, but she lets it grow into a Cheshire Cat grin. Her only takeaway is that Aubrey actually cares.

This, of course, very quickly transforms Aubrey’s smugness into her signature pissed-off state.

“Seriously, _don’t_ ,” Aubrey says, jabbing a finger into her shoulder.

She cares.

Even if she won’t admit it.

“Okay,” Stacie says. Her cheeks are starting to hurt, but _oh my god, Aubrey cares._

“You’re so annoying,” Aubrey says rolling her eyes.

My god, Stacie realizes when Aubrey grabs her by the wrist, her little heart is _definitely_ not coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Happy Thanksgiving, my American friends! I made it in time after all!
> 
> As I'm moving into chapter 8 now, I'm shocked and awed by the progress since chapter 5. I wish all of you could jump in my head and flesh out the rest of these chapters because they're getting quite action-packed. It's funny that I referred to chapter 4 as a filler chapter, but I realized as I was working through these latter chapters that every chapter is a little bit like that. A little plot interspersed with vignettes. While I'm moving into the angst and the stories behind the story, I also just really enjoy the tender conversations between characters. 
> 
> I hope it isn't too much, you guys. I actually had to divvy up my chapters differently because this one was getting insanely long...
> 
> Unfortunately, the supporting Bellas will be hanging out at the mall for a couple of chapters, but they will be back. I'm SO stoked to bring Lilly in. The ensemble is ALMOST complete!
> 
> Oh! I should also mention that the cast IS older. I felt it was important that they are established professionals and not necessarily prodigies. I suppose they’re closer to their actors’ age that way!
> 
> I've been working a lot over the last few weeks, and as I drive to work, I've been spending a lot of time with my music and figuring out how it can help me add to my story. Here are some more songs that I've been enjoying, and perhaps you will be able to see who each song belongs to and why: 
> 
> 5 out of 6 - Dessa  
> Bulletproof Baby - The Struts  
> Drive - The Glades  
> Hurt Me - Lapsley  
> Road to Happiness - Cam  
> Ease My Mind - Ben Platt
> 
> As always, I appreciate any thoughts or feelings you have. Comments? Concerns? Let me know how I'm doing and share the love. 
> 
> If chapter 8 progresses nicely, I'll see you guys next week :)


	6. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this chapter contains depictions of abuse.

Stacie’s room is…very neat, surprisingly. Perhaps unsurprisingly, since she is almost always in her lab. It’s Impersonal. Kind of like a nice hotel room. Aubrey remembers being in Jessica and Ashley’s shared bedroom on one occasion, when Jessica was looking for a pair of jeans to lend her. She remembers a room full of sunshine through floral curtains, pictures and trinkets on every surface. They had separate vanities with very different colour palettes, each part of the room uniquely Jessica, Ashley, or both. Stacie’s room was nothing like that. Her bed was made with military precision, and the only thing on any surface is a thin layer of dust. Even the clock on the end table was painfully generic.

And Stacie is a lot of things, but _generic_ isn’t one of them.

“Hey, come in,” Stacie says, holding the door open. She’s wearing an oversized grey cardigan and cotton pyjama pants with pink flamingos printed on blue fabric. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and she’s so cute with her thick glasses on.

Aubrey’s stomach flips at the _very_ random thought, and she immediately pushes it right out of her head.

“Oh good,” Aubrey says, brushing past her to sit on the corner of her bed. “This is how you’re _supposed_ to look when you’re at home.”

Stacie laughs. “Not while there are beautiful women running around your home.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. She likes it better when she’s speechless. She thinks back to just fifteen minutes ago when she told her to take her to her room, and she almost bursts into laughter. If she could control her temper, she would’ve spent more time messing with Stacie. This woman is all bark and no bite.

“Trust me, there isn’t any way you can dress that will change my mind about you,” Aubrey says drily. “You might as well be comfortable. At the very least, stop wearing contacts all day, for god’s sakes.”

“Hm, challenge accepted,” Stacie says with a grin.

“Seriously? I’m trying to help you,” Aubrey says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Stacie, with her hands in the pockets of her cardigan, flaps them excitedly. “I know, and I’m touched,” she says, still grinning. “For the record, I was just thinking that you’d be a great mom.” She gasps suddenly, and whatever she is about to say, Aubrey already has a feeling she wants to kick her in the shin and leave. “Oh my gosh, our babies would be so cute—can you imagine?”

“No, and I don’t want to,” Aubrey grumbles. Except she does, just a little, and she imagines little wide-eyed Stacies running around destroying everything in their path. No, thank you. No matter how cute they might be. Then again, they’d be _pretty_ cute, the back of her mind adds. Aubrey immediately shakes the thought out of her head. “Just lay down,” Aubrey says, gruffer than usual as she points to the pillow.

“Ooh, are you going to tuck me in and read me a story?” Stacie says as she obediently climbs into bed. She slides under the blanket and Aubrey glares when she playfully pokes her with her covered foot.

“Yes, actually,” Aubrey huffs. “You can tuck yourself in, but I figure a child like you might fall asleep if I read something out loud. I’m operating on the assumption that you’ve tried everything most adults have tried.”

Stacie raises her brows, still sitting in front of her pillow skeptically. “You’re right, but I don’t know. I find most things interesting, so I’m not sure this will work. Like, nothing bores me.”

“Believe it or not, I know. Textbooks and manuals will probably keep you awake. Any story at all won’t work either.”

“Aww, you really know me,” Stacie says, beaming.

Aubrey scoffs. “You’re not exactly hard to figure out.”

That isn’t exactly true, but Aubrey isn’t going to concede the fact so easily. Stacie has been something of a curiosity in the last few days.

She can’t put a finger on why, but Stacie has been…bearable. Not just bearable, an unhelpful part of her brain chimes in once more, she’s almost endearing. Like it’s almost too easy to care about her. Aubrey kicks that part of her brain aside and clears her throat. She might be impressed, and she might even _respect_ Stacie, just a little bit, but she doesn’t _care_ about Stacie, she argues with herself. She cares about catching Cole. And she can’t catch him if Stacie isn’t helping.

“Aubrey?”

“What?” She snaps, turning to face her.

“Nothing, you just disappeared somewhere,” Stacie says, raising her hands in surrender. “So, what do you have for me? I hope it’s a juicy physics textbook. A little Foucault? I’m down to get a little nasty with philosophy.” She wiggles her eyebrows, but Aubrey ignores her.

“Close,” Aubrey says. She pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged at the foot of Stacie’s bed, then pulls a small booklet from the pocket of her hoodie. She holds it up to show Stacie with a triumphant smirk. “It’s a troubleshooting guide.”

Stacie claps her hands together. “Ooh, I love those! What’s it for? A laptop? Bluetooth speaker? Microwave? A ten-speed vibrator?”

“No, what? I don’t—” Aubrey takes a deep breath and pulls at the air to centre herself. Ignoring Stacie’s snickers, she speaks slowly, as if disciplining a child, “Stacie, just to be clear, I need you to be so bored that you start to fall asleep. Do you understand?”

“You know that’s not gonna happen,” Stacie says, throwing out her arms. “I mean, troubleshooting!”

“Yeah, it’s a troubleshooting guide for pencils.”

Stacie’s mouth drops. “ _What_? That’s a thing?”

“Yes, now lie down and close your eyes, goddammit.”

Reluctantly, Stacie obeys. Aubrey gets up to turn down the light to a low, amber glow, then resumes her position sitting at the foot of Stacie’s bed.

“If you open your eyes, I’m going to kill you,” Aubrey says matter-of-factly. In lower, more soothing tones, she adds, “Listen to my voice and don’t think about anything else. Just pencils and how tired you are.”

Stacie doesn’t move. Good.

Aubrey flips to the first page and starts to read in her most soothing voice: “If lead does not come out, turn the cap clockwise to put the pencil into writing position. Twist the eraser until it comes out for access into the cassette. Make sure there is lead in the cassette.”

Stacie snorts, but doesn’t say anything.

Aubrey continues: “When the lead is too short, advance a new lead from the cassette by removing the cap with point facing downward and press the eraser until it clicks. Repeat approximately twelve times Twist cap clockwise until lead is exposed. Once exposed, advance lead by applying a slight pressure to the tip. If cassette is empty, replace.”

“Oh my god,” Stacie mumbles.

Aubrey slaps her lightly on the leg closest to her beneath the blanket. “Shut up and listen.”

By the end of the surprisingly expansive manual, Aubrey is drained. Stacie peeks at her from beneath her blanket, looking like her soul had left her some time ago, but no sleepier than when they started.

Aubrey groans. “I’ve bored myself to exhaustion, but you still look wide awake.”

“Sorry,” Stacie replies with a sheepish smile. “I’m exhausted, but I don’t think it’s coming. Congratulations for finding the only boring troubleshooting guide in the universe though—that really got me. I mean, fucking _pencils_.”

“Alright,” Aubrey mumbles, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Plan B—I’m going to bed.”

“Uh, how…” Stacie’a question trails off when Aubrey crawls over next to her and rolls herself up in the other half of her blanket. “Wait—here?” Stacie squeaks. She sits up. “You’re gonna sleep _here_?”

“Yes,” Aubrey replies with her eyes closed as she pulls the blanket up to her chin. “And if you touch me inappropriately, I will put a bounty on your head myself.”

“R-Right,” Stacie stammers, slowly sliding back into bed. “But…here?”

“Go turn off the light.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

In the darkness, everything feels different. Aubrey can feel Stacie beside her, so quiet it’s like she’s barely breathing. And yet the air feels heavy with thoughts. It could be the exhaustion, Aubrey reasons, but it’s hard to deny how fast her heart is beating when she is hyperaware of Stacie’s warmth beside her. She and Chloe often shared the same bed when they fall asleep watching TV—this shouldn’t be so different.

Except she can’t stop thinking about how many people have slept in this bed before her. If not this bed, then this same position, and her imagination is making her itch. It’s suddenly too quiet, and Aubrey feels the sudden need to break the silence. She glances over at Stacie, whose eyes are closed, but is definitely not sleeping.

“I overheard Beca say you’re used to having a warm body in your bed,” Aubrey says quietly. “And I appreciate that you’re thinking of us, even at the expense of your own…well-being.”

“Oh, um, it’s not really like that,” Stacie says, turning toward her slightly with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, that makes it sound like I have million lovers.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re an adult, and as long as the other party is a consenting adult, it’s fine.”

“Still, it’s not…”

“Despite what you might think, I’m a romantic at heart, and I’m not going to sacrifice my body to repay a debt, but I do have an idea.” Aubrey turns toward Stacie and says, “Face me.”

Stacie does. In the darkness, she can just make out Stacie’s features. She then reaches into Stacie’s half of the bed and tugs out her arm. Stacie doesn’t say anything, and Aubrey is glad she can’t see her face, because this is already too far beyond her personal threshold of embarrassing. She holds Stacie hand out, then nudges closer and closer until she’s able to tuck her back against Stacie’s front and place her hand on her stomach.

“This… might help,” Aubrey mumbles. “Just don’t try anything or I’ll rip off your hand in your sleep.”

“Aubrey,” Stacie whispers. Aubrey’s heart rate quickens at the sound, at the way Stacie says her name. There’s a gentleness to it she’s never heard before, a quality of awe that makes her feel…special seems to be the wrong word for it. She isn’t special, she reminds herself for the thousandth time.

She’s distracted when Stacie squeezes her a little closer. It’s hard not to notice the gentle strength in Stacie’s arms, or the way they fit so well together.

Safe—that’s the word that pops up first in Aubrey’s mind. A word so loud it doesn’t give her time to deny it.

And god, it’s terrifying.

“Thank you,” Stacie mumbles.

“Just focus on one thing and think about it over and over, and try to sleep.”

She feels Stacie nod against her, and she tries not to sigh. For her, that one thing is definitely going to be Stacie’s arms tonight.

* * *

Beca looks up at the clock on her desk. It’s almost a quarter to four. There’s a slight breeze in her room that catches her attention—she always keeps her windows shut. Slowly, she reaches for the gun taped on the underside of her desk as she listens.

She’s about to grab it and turn around when the presence suddenly appears beside her, solid and tangible. A shiver runs down her spine and—

“Hi.”

Beca looks up at the voice and collapses back in her chair with a hand to her racing heart. “Jesus, Lilly, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Lilly says in her normal volume of barely audible. Simultaneously, she holds a fist to her heart, thumb pressed against the side of her index finger, and draws a tight circle around it.

In the time that Beca has gotten to know Lilly, she learned two very important skillsets. The first, reading her lips, learning and teaching Lilly American sign language has been invaluable in any and all emergencies. The second, perhaps even more challenging than the first, is staying humble and realizing there exists someone in this world who can kill her in the blink of an eye, and she likely wouldn’t know it until she’s staring down at her own corpse from the ether.

“I like the doodles in your journal,” Lilly mumbles. When Beca doesn’t seem to hear her, Lilly sighs and points to the open notebook on her desk. “Is that Chloe?” She signs, finger-spelling Chloe’s name slowly for emphasis.

Beca gasps and snatches her notebook from the desk, pressing it to her chest with a blush. She clears her throat. “It’s…not. I was just…writing down my day. Kinda. Jessica says it helps to get things down so I can sleep better, okay? I’m not just…drawing.” Of course, she doesn’t admit that she mostly _is_ drawing, because it conveys infinitely more than what her prowess with words—or lack thereof—ever could.

“I’m not judging,” Lilly whispers with a shrug. “You two are cute.”

This time, Beca hears it. She slowly puts her journal back on her desk, shut tightly this time and away from prying eyes. “You know, you can always say hi. Like, instead of just watching us from wherever you are. It’s unsettling.”

Lilly grins. “I’m shy,” she signs.

Beca rolls her eyes. “I’m assuming you didn’t just break into my room to snoop at my journal. So, what’s up?”

“I found Cole.”

Beca shoots up, her chair rolling back and hitting her bed with a soft thump. “Where? Is he close? Does he know where we are?”

“Slow down,” Lilly signs. “My informant in the police said that someone must’ve tipped off internal affairs about the dirty cops after Henry’s death. It’s chaos. They’re not protecting George anymore.”

Beca watches Lilly’s hands move furiously. Clearly, she’s been practicing and learning on her own because she is _not_ keeping up. She interrupts her and tells her as much. Lilly sighs, then pulls from her pocket a device Stacie gave her for her birthday last year.

It’s a small rectangular keyboard. When she turns it on, a triangle of orange light opens. Lilly repeats her message by typing it into the keyboard, and Beca watches intensely as the words appear boldly within the orange light, mirrored to make it legible to anyone standing in front of Lilly. Beca sighs inwardly—she doesn’t tell anyone how much she hates reading. Well, except Chloe. She almost prefers the freedom and the _sense_ of ASL. When this is all over, she notes to herself, she’ll have to get Lilly to tutor her.

“Mercenaries are too disorganized, but it’s better to be careful. He raised the bounty,” Lilly continues, her thumbs flying across the keyboard. “1.5mil. Informant in the police said he overheard someone say he left the country. Don’t know where.”

It takes Beca several moments to parse out the entire message, but when she finishes, her eyes are wide. “Oh my god, we have to tell Stacie.”

Lilly shakes her head furiously.

“Why not?” Beca snaps.

Unexpectedly, Lilly beams. “She’s sleeping,” she types.

“Oh my god. That’s…that’s great,” Beca sighs, smiling despite everything else. “About time.”

“I saw her holding Aubrey like a teddy bear. It’s very cute,” Lilly types out with a cheery grin.

“ _What_? Are you sure it was Aubrey?” Beca holds her forehead. “This is too much information in one night.”

“Amy isn’t here. Ashley would throw a tantrum if Stacie wanted to spoon Jessica. There are no other blondes.”

“Right.” Beca shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll talk to Stacie in the morning.”

Lilly nods. “I’ve been hearing rumours of a new group moving into Cole’s old space. He might have connections in Asia.”

“Gotcha. I’ll get Stacie tomorrow, and we’ll have a meeting about our next step. You mind sitting in?”

Lilly puts her device away and gives her a thumbs up, followed by a quick wave. “Gotta go set my nightmares on fire to feed my joy,” she whispers, cartwheeling toward Beca’s door.

“Dude, you can just walk,” Beca calls after her as she slips out the door. “Uh…good night. I guess.”

She lives with such weirdos, she thinks, sitting back down and flipping open her journal. She taps the back of her pen against the notepaper, sucking the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.

An anonymous tip to the police.

Their target fleeing to Asia.

And the juiciest piece of news of all—Stacie and Aubrey.

Beca leans back and chuckles to herself. Aubrey has guts—she’d warned Stacie. Then again, it’s about time someone came along to tame her best friend.

* * *

At five in the morning, Beca heads down the hall to Stacie’s room. She can’t remember the last time she’s even stepped foot in there, but she’s sure it looks the same. It’s looked the way it does since they were eight years old. Stark and cold, just the way Sofia liked it. Even now, so many years after her death, Stacie hasn’t been able to break the way that room makes her feel—she doesn’t blame her for avoiding it when she can.

If Lilly is right, she hopes Aubrey can change that. Maybe even for good.

Very quietly, she cracks open her door.

There’s a mess of dark hair and a heap of blankets, breathing steadily. She opens her door a little wider to see if Lilly’s intel is right, and sure enough—

“Oh hey, Beca! I was just thinking about you. Ready for more _Potter_ this after—”

Beca whips around, nearly slamming the door closed behind her, as she lifts a hand to silence the voice. Her eyes are wide, her heart beating quickly, and it takes several seconds for her to take in Chloe’s bewildered expression and both her hands clasped around her mouth.

“Sorry,” Beca whispers, dropping her arms to her sides with a sheepish smile. “Yes, but—Stacie’s sleeping.”

Chloe covers her own mouth this time to smother a gasp. She bounces a little, and Beca imagines she’s trying to stifle her instinct to squeal or scream.

“Listen,” Beca says, leaning in, “you have to be very, very quiet okay?”

Chloe nods eagerly.

“Good, because I think Aubrey’s in there too,” Beca finishes with a smirk.

“Ohmigod—are they…”—Chloe gasps— “dressed?”

Beca flushes. “Obviously, they’re—uh…yeah, just cuddling, I think.”

Chloe’s eyes widen, her fingers tightening around her mouth. She points to the door, and Beca gestures her toward it. Just be quiet, she mouths. Chloe flashes an okay with a finger to her thumb before tiptoeing to Stacie’s bedroom door. It doesn’t take long before she quietly closes the door and mouths, oh my god, to Beca smiling further down the hallway.

“I can’t believe Bree actually did it,” Chloe whispers once they reach the central staircase.

“You’re telling me _Aubrey_ initiated this?” Beca says incredulously.

“Well, yeah,” Chloe says, looking up at Beca from several steps down when she realizes she isn’t following her. “Stacie’s really flirty, but she’s also pretty respectful of Aubrey. I don’t think she’d make her do anything like that.”

Beca shakes her head with a smile, hopping down the few steps to continue their way downstairs. “You’re giving Stacie _way_ more credit than I am.”

Chloe narrows her eyes. “You think Stacie would coerce Aubrey into sleeping with her?”

“Of course not,” Beca says, shouldering open the kitchen door. “I just think Stacie can be very persuasive when she wants something, and trust me, I’ve never seen her want something as much as Aubrey.”

In the kitchen, Chloe turns toward the cupboards and reaches into the top shelf to pull out two water bottles while Beca pops two pieces of toast into the toaster. “So, you think Aubrey is dumb enough to fall for her playboy charms?” Chloe says, arching a brow over her shoulder as she fills up the water bottles.

“Stacie is not a playboy, first of all—er, playgirl? Whatever. Point is, she isn’t that,” Beca says, throwing an avocado up in the air and catching it while she thinks. “She has her issues, but she…wears her heart on her sleeve, for better or for worse. Most of the time, it’s for the worse. And Aubrey isn’t dumb. I just think…maybe something happened. I don’t know.”

Chloe sets the water bottles aside and grabs two clean plates from dishwasher. She’s handing them to Beca when she starts worrying her lower lip. “The only thing I can think of,” Chloe says slowly, “is Aubrey finding out about Stacie’s day job yesterday.”

“Aubrey watches _Car Chicks_?” Beca says incredulously. The avocado nearly slips out of her hands, so she finally places it on the cutting board and reaches into the drawer for a knife.

“ _Car Babes_ , Becs,” Chloe giggles. “And yeah, she’s a big fan of this one leggy model.”

“You’re _kidding_ ,” Beca breathes. Her knife pivots toward Chloe in shock, and Chloe steps back instinctively.

Chloe shakes her head and steps into Beca’s space long enough to slide the knife out of her hands. Without a word, she takes over the avocado while Beca grabs the toast from the toaster. “I’m not,” Chloe continues, “but Bree’s too proud to tell Stacie that, I’m pretty sure. Like, we have the calendar in the kitchen every year—that’s why Stacie looked kinda familiar to me. She’s in it, like, every year. I think this year she was…April? I remember the playboy bunny outfit with the ears and everything. With some old red muscle car.”

Beca makes a face. “She has the _calendar_? God, Stacie gives those to us every year, and we always burn them in a big bonfire. Even _she_ finds them too much.”

Chloe nods gravely. “I'm not surprised. Anyway, they were, like, fully clothed, so it’s not _that_ big of a deal. She did genuinely seem to be worried about the insomnia thing yesterday, so maybe that was her solution.”

“Being Stacie’s teddy bear,” Beca snorts.

Chloe looks up from where she’s topping one slice of toast with half the avocado slices. “Don’t you think that’s cute?” she asks with a pout.

Beca blinks. “What? Being Stacie’s bear?”

“Yeah, I mean, she’s brave enough to ask if she can cuddle Aubrey to sleep. I think that’s really cute,” Chloe mumbles. “Or, like, Aubrey being brave enough to offer?”

Beca takes the two plates of toast over to the breakfast nook, then takes a seat in the booth to watch Chloe as she rinses off the knife. Her lips are pursed, and her expression uncharacteristically serious. Beca rests her elbow on the table, and leans her cheek into her hand, a realization hitting her when Chloe finally comes to join her with a pitcher of orange juice and two glasses. “Do you,” Beca says slowly, leaning a little closer across the table, “need a teddy bear?”

Chloe nearly spills the orange juice all over the table mid-pour. “Uh, no, I’m fine. I mean, my sleeping is…fine. Like, I’m sleeping okay,” she fumbles, blushing. “I meant…for people who _do_ have trouble sleeping, it’s very brave to ask for help like that.”

“Right…” Beca nods and thanks Chloe quickly for the orange juice being slid her way before picking up her slice of toast.

“Do you…understand what I’m saying, Beca?” Chloe asks, cringing a little.

She furrows her brows at her toast. “Uh…yes?”

“Sooo…”

Beca takes a bite, frowning when she looks up to see Chloe staring at her expectantly. “Uh, don’t you think it would be weird for me to ask Aubrey to be my teddy bear?” Beca says, mid-chew. “I mean, I kinda think I’d rather just get a real teddy bear.”

Chloe wants to hit something, but settles for closing her hanging jaw instead. “Um, you know what?” Chloe says with a sheepish smile, “Don’t worry about it, Becs.”

“Okay?” Beca says, blinking back in confusion. “Did I…misunderstand?”

“It’s fine, Becs. I think you’re right. That would be kind of weird,” Chloe sighs, inwardly scowling at the image of Aubrey cuddling Beca in bed.

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Beca says thoughtfully, “They’re fully clothed, so I don’t think Stacie is the one who asked. She can be persuasive, but I don’t think she’d ask for something so…innocent. It’s _too_ intimate.”

“Really?” Chloe says before taking a bite out of her own toast, her cheeks still warm from the embarrassment she isn’t even sure she sustained.

“Yeah,” Beca goes on, oblivious, “Stacie is…well, she’s like horny all the time, but she’s kinda weird when it comes to, um…affection? Romantic stuff, I guess. You probably don’t know, but CR and Stacie dated for a little while—it’s how we found CR, actually.”

“ _What_?” Chloe nearly chokes on her toast.

“Yeah, it didn’t last long, so relax,” Beca says, chuckling as she hands Chloe a napkin. “Better as friends or whatever. And CR is pretty out and proud, and Stacie…it’s not that she’s not, but she’s not very…public? With her affection. Even around us. I remember CR being pretty fed up about how she didn’t even like holding hands. We’re kind of similar that way. Just the way we were raised, I guess. Not that we _don’t_ like it. Just not used to it,” She finishes with a shrug, and a sip of her orange juice. 

“Did your…current or previous boyfriends ever complain?” Chloe says casually, staring intently at her toast as she takes another bite. A beat passes before she chances a glance at Beca. She swallows, suddenly nervous as she watches Beca finish off her toast and lick off a smudge of green from her thumb.

“Not really,” Beca replies with a sheepish—oblivious—smile. “I dated a guy when I was younger who cried a lot, and since then, I found that emotionally unavailable men are much easier to deal with—though I guess they don’t count as boyfriends.”

“What about…girlfriends?” Chloe asks, tilting her head.

Beca scoffs as she wipes her fingers on a napkin. “I never dated any girls long enough to call them that. They usually leave once they found out I’m…what did Stacie call it? Oh yeah, the poster child for emotional constipation. Relationships aren’t really for me, I guess.”

“Or maybe you just haven’t found someone who sees the marshmallow inside you all along,” Chloe says, grinning into her glass of orange juice.

“ _Marshmallow_ is a bit far,” Beca says with a raise of her brow. “But sure, I guess if Stacie can be tamed by an angry, blonde teddy bear, anything can happen,” she adds with a smile.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Becs, if you want a teddy bear, just ask,” she says in exasperation.

Beca stands up as she starts stacking up their dirty dishes. “I appreciate how passionate you are about this whole sleeping thing, Chloe,” she says, flashing a lop-sided grin. “But I’ll be alright. If I get to Stacie levels of insomnia, I promise I’ll give Amy a call.”

Chloe sighs and tries to resist the urge to smash her head against the table. “Yay,” she mumbles before downing the rest of her orange juice.

* * *

The first thing Stacie notices when her consciousness starts returning back to her body is that she can’t move. Her mind swims, but even her eyelids still seem to be asleep. For a moment, she wonders if she’d died at some point, but there’s a warmth around her she can’t identify, and she knows she’s there—alive. The light against her eyelids is blinding. She allows her mind to wander, hoping something in a lucid dream can wake her up.

With effort, she wakes up in her lab, and it’s dark all around her. She’s on her couch, she realizes as she pushes herself up. No, it’s Aubrey’s couch now, but Aubrey is nowhere in sight. It’s confirmation enough that she’s dreaming, so she stands. Everything in this room is dark except for one orb of blue at her desk. She moves toward it. It’s coming from her laptop. Chloe’s phone is there, plugged into its port.

“Anastasia.”

Stacie freezes. The laptop blinks at her, and she doesn’t need to get closer to see her dead grandmother’s eyes staring at her, empty, penetrating. In life as in death. With a single word—a word she _hates_ from the very bottom of her heart—in that same exacting voice, Stacie is eight years old again, hiding behind Beca on the first day they set foot on this property.

“Outsmarted by street rats, are you?” the voice booms. “You are a disgrace.”

This is a dream, she reminds herself. Her grandmother is gone. She isn’t here. None of this is real.

“After everything I’ve done for you, after everything you’ve done _to me_ —this is how you choose to live your life?”

Wake up, she tells herself. Wake up!

But even in her dream, she can’t feel her limbs. She only feels smaller, as her projections suddenly flash to life. Five identical images of her grandmother snarl back at her. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, and she has a yellow scarf tied to her neck like she did on the day they buried her. None of them speak at first. They simply stare, and that is enough.

She wants to fall to her knees and apologize—for what she doesn’t know. The list is so long. 

Her legs give out, but when she opens her mouth, her voice is gone.

“Anastasia,” all five projections echo simultaneously. They all shake their head disapprovingly, and it’s painfully familiar. “You seek the love of a woman who sees you for what you are—worthless, pathetic, and desperately lonely. You are a monster, and she will never love you back, Anastasia. Creatures such as we simply do not love, nor shall we ever be loved.”

Stop, she cries silently. She lifts her hands to pray, to beg, to anchor herself to _something,_ but she feels that familiar, sticky warmth, pooling in her open palms, running down, down her forearm and dripping past her elbow.

Blood.

Both hands drenched in blood.

It’s a dream, she reminds herself when her consciousness starts to pull like waves across the sand.

It’s a memory.

No, a dream.

A memory.

This is a memory.

Let me go, she tries to scream. Please, let me go.

Suddenly, something strikes her across the face, and all at once she is in her own bedroom. She blinks blearily up at the fuzzy image of a vague shape in her vision. She closes her eyes to let the dizziness settle, but is instead met with a wave of sensations. She feels her fingers twitch, the hot slick of moisture on her cheeks, and a weight on her stomach.

She blinks her eyes open once more, and it takes a few more moments to adjust to the light. To reality when it still feels so much like a dream.

Then, she’s awake. Very awake.

Because all at once, she registers Aubrey straddling her stomach, her oversized collared shirt slipping to reveal half a shoulder. Her hair is a wild mess, and her green eyes are blown wide. One hand starts to relax on Stacie’s collar, and her breathing slows as she drops her shoulders. “There you are,” she sighs. “Finally.”

That’s when the stinging in her cheek decides to set in. “Aubrey—did you…did you slap me?” Stacie asks incredulously as she reaches up to touch her cheek.

“Yes,” she says, grinning a little. “Been wanting to do that for a while.” Then, she drops her smile. “I think you were having nightmares. You suddenly started…crying, and apologizing,” Aubrey says, sweeping back her hair to avoid Stacie’s eyes. “I called your name, but you didn’t respond. It was…pretty scary, actually. Not really the way I wanted to wake up this morning,” she adds in a mumble.

Stacie doesn’t know what to say—she’s still trying to process the way Aubrey looks in the morning, with the sunlight streaming in behind her.

“Sorry,” Stacie says sheepishly.

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear another apology from you for a _long_ while,” Aubrey replies curtly.

“Then, thank you,” Stacie laughs, “for slapping me in the face.”

Aubrey scoffs. “It was long overdue.”

“Well, you have my permission, if you want to do it every morning,” Stacie says with a grin.

Aubrey scowls. “ _Not_ if you’re going to like it that much.” Then, her expression softens, and Stacie’s heart skips a beat to remind her that it was _never_ coming back. “Did you sleep well?” she asks, almost shyly.

“I…slept. Nightmare aside, I feel like I slept more than I’ve ever slept in my entire life. I’ve never…I think I went through some kind of sleep paralysis,” Stacie says as she starts to sit up. Aubrey, who seemed unaware that she was still straddling Stacie, flushes crimson, and quickly scrambles off to sit on the other side of the bed. Stacie doesn’t resist a smile—she really is too cute.

Aubrey clears her throat, feigning cool as she gathers her knees to her chest. “I’m not surprised,” she says, “your body had a _lot_ of sleep to catch up on.”

“Did you sleep well?” Stacie asks, running a hand through her knotted hair.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Aubrey says, though she doesn’t look particularly impressed.

“Aw, maybe your body was mad at you for sleeping on the couch for a week when you’ve had an option for a bed this whole time. Or,” Stacie grins, “maybe you missed being the little spoon.”

“M-maybe I just slept better knowing you’re too dead to the world to harass me!”

Stacie cocks her head. “You know I would never touch you without permission, right?” She asks with a tinge of nervousness. She clears her throat: “I much prefer the thrill of the chase,” She adds with a wink.

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “Please, let’s not pretend you’re actually capable of acting like an adult long enough to ‘chase’ me,” she says, adding the air quotes for emphasis. “You have zero game, Stacie Conrad.”

Stacie’s brows shoot up. Leaning a little closer, she asks, “Are you…inviting me to chase you?”

Aubrey blushes and looks away with a scowl. “I don’t have a lot of faith in you as it is, then you go asking something so idiotic.”

Stacie’s heart hammers as something very pleasant washes over her. It must be hope, she thinks, that Aubrey might be a _little bit_ in love with her too. Not again. The feeling is so warm, so inviting that she _almost_ allows herself to run that scenario, but fearing the havoc it would have on her heart even in a simulation, she reins it back quickly.

“S-Stop looking at me like that,” Aubrey says, shifting uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Stacie murmurs, feeling her face heat up in embarrassment. “I was just…thinking…that…I’d really like to make dinner for you tonight. As a thank you. Jess and Ashley are in town, so it’s…perfect timing, I guess?”

Aubrey stares. “Is this your idea of game?” She asks blandly. “It’s super subtle.”

Stacie laughs and shrugs. “I don’t know. You could be right—I don’t have much game. I don’t _do_ a lot of chasing, as you can imagine,” she says playfully as she flips her wild, untamed hair over her shoulder. “But also, I _do_ respect and admire you, you know. And I really appreciate you doing what you did last night, that’s—it was…very kind.”

Aubrey relaxes a little. “So, the dinner…”

Stacie shrugs. “A token of my gratitude. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. If you’re worried I might do something awful, you’re free to supervise or help out. We can even invite Beca and Chloe.”

Aubrey hums. “That doesn’t sound like the absolute worst way to pass an evening.”

“I’m glad,” Stacie says, grinning.

Suddenly, there’s a couple of loud knocks on Stacie’s door.

“Stace!” Beca calls from the other side. “Sorry if I woke you, but it’s almost one—I’m calling a meeting in the kitchen.”

“One in the afternoon?” Stacie whispers, stunned.

“Do you…think she knows I’m in here?” Aubrey says with a similar expression.

Stacie looks around, then slaps a hand across her forehead. “Window’s unlocked—Lilly was here last night,” she sighs.

“ _Who?_ ” Aubrey shrieks.

“She’s…an interesting part of the team. If she came in and saw us sleeping, she probably went to Beca’s next. So yeah, she probably knows,” Stacie says with an apologetic smile. “Good news is, she doesn’t usually climb through windows unless she has good information, so that’s probably what Beca wants to talk about.”

Aubrey gasps. “Do you think she found Cole?”

Stacie shrugs. “It’s possible. Won’t know until we get downstairs.”

* * *

For Chloe, there are few things in life more satisfying than a nice, warm shower after a run. Especially a run that broke past her record of six laps around the lake, and finally into that six and a _half_ territory without absolutely murdering her legs.

She’s squeezing her biceps with her hand and musing about how strong she’s gotten, when a sudden song enters her mind. She grins as she enters the kitchen, singing, “I’m stroooooonger than yesterday.”

Beca looks up from the breakfast nook, where she has a pen poised over a notebook and a steaming mug beside it. She cocks her head, but doesn’t say anything, and Chloe takes it as a cue to keep going.

“Now it’s nothing but my way. My loneliness ain’t killing me no more,” she belts as she does a dramatic body roll to the fridge. She flips around, tosses her hair, and looks at Beca with an expectant grin. “No?”

Beca shrugs. “Madonna?”

Chloe nearly drops the can of sparkling water she pulls from the fridge. “Seriously, Becs?”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Chlo, you know what I do for a living. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not out in the clubs or bopping to your top 40s,” she says drily.

But there’s a hint of a smile there, and Chloe doesn’t resist the urge to tease her as she takes the seat across. “Did you just use the word ‘bopping’ like you’re eighty years old?” She snickers.

Beca flushes in that way that Chloe’s grown to adore. “You know what I mean,” she mutters.

“For the record, that was Britney Spears. It came out in, like, 2000. You’re out of touch, Becs.”

“That’s probably true,” Beca concedes, returning to her journal. Chloe peers across the table at the list of notes Beca is writing. It’s too small to read from where she’s sitting, but she does appreciate the bunny doodled in the corner of the page. She even added a little bowtie.

“Maybe we should all do karaoke sometime,” Chloe suggests.

“Pass,” Beca says, not looking up from her notebook. “I don’t sing.”

“But it’s, like, the best way to get a proper music education!” Chloe says, eagerly leaning in on her elbows.

“Do my ears deceive me, or did somebody say karaoke?”

Beca and Chloe look up at the new voice coming into the kitchen. Stacie walks in with a giant grin plastered on her face, and fully dressed in her signature shorts, navy this time, and a ruffled white top. Aubrey, only a few steps behind her, already looks annoyed despite the lovely sunshine-yellow dress she’s wearing. When she sees Chloe, however, she smiles, and Chloe beams, waving right back enthusiastically.

“Yes! I was telling Beca we should have a karaoke night!” Chloe says excitedly.

“Jess left two quinoa bowls or whatever in the fridge for you two. There’s also a tuna melt in the oven for Aubrey if that’s more your style,” Beca says. She then points her pen at Chloe. “Also, we are not having a karaoke night while a million people want you dead, Chlo.”

“Well, one teensy little karaoke night can’t hurt?” Chloe says, turning back to Beca with a pout.

Stacie takes a seat beside Beca with her quinoa bowl and a glass of water, raising her brow as she watches Chloe pout a little harder. She glances at Beca from the corner of her eye, who looks altogether uncomfortable as she nervously taps the back of her pen against her notebook. Stacie smirks, digging into her food with a fork as she shakes her head.

“Well, maybe one karaoke night won’t hurt,” Beca mumbles into her hand, leaning into it with her elbow on the table.

“Yay!” Chloe cheers, wiggling happily in her seat in a way that draws a resigned smile from Beca. “It’ll be _so_ much fun.”

“Wow, you never give in that easily when _I_ ask you to do things,” Stacie teases, nudging her in the side.

Beca rolls her eyes, her cheeks flaring brightly against her pale skin. “Shut up,” she says simply.

Aubrey soon joins them at the table, seating herself next to Chloe with her own quinoa bowl. “Knowing you, all of your ideas are probably insane,” Aubrey says drily.

“That’s rude,” Stacie says, faking offence with a hand on her chest. “I have great ideas! Like—”

“Hi.”

Stacie jumps, dropping the fork she was holding back into the bowl with a clang. Aubrey yelps, but manages to avoid making a mess, while Chloe nearly completely sprays out the sparkling water she was drinking. Beca, the only one unaffected by the sudden fifth presence at the table, simply hands Chloe a napkin from the dispenser at the centre of the table to wipe up the dribbling.

Everyone turns toward the voice, who has now pulled up a chair between Beca and Chloe, waving happily at the rest of the table.

“Jesus, Lilly, I’m literally facing the door and I _still_ didn’t see or hear you come in,” Stacie grumbles, massaging her heart with a hand. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Lilly whispers something that Stacie doesn’t hear, so she sighs, turns to Beca, and starts making gestures nobody else seems to understand. Chloe watches the exchange in fascination.

They seem close, and Lilly is adorable. She has a gentle aura about her that seems to lure you into a false sense of security, and a permanent little smile belying secrets Chloe can’t begin to comprehend. Beca nods along, then laughs in such an easy way that something prickles inside Chloe. Something green. Because _of_ _course_ the sweet-looking, adorable Lilly is funny too.

“She said she came in through the back door, but you wouldn’t have noticed her even if she fell through the ceiling and into your lap, Stace,” Beca snickers.

Stacie gasps, and glances at Aubrey so subtly that Chloe isn’t sure she saw it. “Wha—I refuse to believe you learned _all_ of that in your beginners’ online ASL classes, Beca.”

Beca smirks, then forms some kind of tunnel with her fingers, pinkies out, as she brings her hand to her forehead, rolling her eyes as she does so. Lilly laughs silently.

Stacie frowns. “Hey, I know that one! I’m not an idiot! You’re both just mean.”

Lilly and Beca exchange grins, then high fives each other like they’re on a whole other wavelength.

Chloe would find it cute, the way they seem to have their own secret way of communicating, if she didn’t also feel jealousy twist and squirm like a knife in her gut—yes, about two minutes into Lilly’s arrival, there is no denying the green monster. Not when Lilly makes Beca laugh like that.

“Chloe,” Beca says, smiling still—Chloe sits a little straighter, eyeing Lilly warily, “Aubrey, this is Lilly Onakuramara. She works in nonprofit with CR, but she’s also the only person in this world capable of murdering me in my sleep. Naturally, she’s our best source of intel.”

Lilly waves once more, grinning enthusiastically.

Lilly then pulls out a rectangular device and proceed to project orange subtitles above her head as her lips move silently in real time. “Hi, I’m Lilly. It’s nice to finally meet you two,” the words scroll across.

“Did you make this?” Aubrey flatly asks Stacie, pointing at the device.

Stacie puffs up her chest. “You bet,” she announces proudly. “Impressed with me yet?”

“Hm,” is all Aubrey says before turning her attention back to Lilly.

“I asked around about you two,” Lilly types, smiling cheerfully. “Looks like you’re clear. No connections to any law enforcement, no involvement in any major or minor crime syndicate. Glad it’s safe to meet you.”

“Excuse me?” Aubrey cries, temper suddenly flaring. “You’ve been _investigating_ us?”

“Surely, you can’t fault us for being too careful,” Stacie replies, pinning her down with a look. “Ex-FBI, supposedly disgraced, then suspended—it's a good cover story for an undercover agent. I just asked Lilly to verify everything with her network. Mind you, this was a week ago, so I wanted to make sure you weren’t planning on playing the long game with us.”

Beca catches Chloe’s eye and looks distinctly uncomfortable. Sorry, she mouths, and Chloe melts a little. It’s okay, she mouths back, earning herself a little smile from Beca. And for Chloe, it really is. It doesn’t surprise her after how they reacted toward the burner. She’d spent enough time with Beca now to know that something has changed since those first few days.

Really, she’d spent enough time with Beca to know they’ve both been burning parallel roads toward something wonderful, whether Beca knows it yet or not. But Chloe feels that trust deep in her heart and soul, and she feels it tethering her to Beca, pulling her closer and closer every day.

Aubrey, however, is practically smoking out her ears as she glares over at Stacie. Stacie, to her credit, doesn’t back down. She simply crosses her arms and returns the favour with a steady challenge of her own. Chloe rubs her palm against the base of Aubrey’s neck and upper back in an attempt to soothe her, but she’s known her long enough to know it doesn’t help. Nothing does when she gets worked up like this.

Unfortunately, Stacie just has a knack for pushing all the wrong buttons, Chloe noticed. She, like most people, is oblivious to Aubrey’s sensitive, hopeless romantic nature—it’s not her fault, of course, when Aubrey keeps it locked up so deep inside. Because as much as Aubrey is going to deny it, Chloe has no doubt in her mind that she’s taking this personally, if only to deny her attraction to Stacie by holding onto her misplaced fear. 

Chloe makes a mental note to talk to Aubrey later, but surprisingly, Beca sort of beats her to it.

“Whatever is happening here,” Beca says, swiping a finger between Stacie and Aubrey, “save it for the bedroom. We have bigger things to deal with right now.”

Stacie looks away first, a little dejected as she pushes her bowl away from her. Very quickly, she recovers with a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Did you find Cole?” She asks Lilly.

Lilly looks to Beca, who simply nods.

“Last night, Lilly came into my room with some information, so I asked her to sit in on this meeting today just in case I miss something,” Beca explains.

All Chloe hears at first is Lilly going to Beca’s room at night, and she feels her cheeks warm. Beca has always been so private, so why is she flaunting this relationship _now_? And she’s biting the inside of her cheek, telling herself to calm down before she embarrasses herself, when Stacie speaks.

“Lilly, you’ve _got_ to stop breaking into our rooms. Just knock, dude. I mean, what if Beca was rubbing one out?”

“ _Dude_!” Beca cries, flushing crimson as she elbows Stacie hard in the ribs. “I wasn’t, by the way,” she says quickly.

“She was writing in her diary,” Lilly types out with a grin. “Also, self-pleasure is perfectly normal, and curtains are more than just great kindling.”

“It’s a journal!” Beca says, lightly slapping Lilly across the shoulder with her notebook. “Jess says it’s therapeutic to get your thoughts on paper and shit, okay? _Anyway_ , can we get back on track?”

Chloe nods, feeling a lot lighter knowing Lilly wasn’t in Beca’s room for reasons she _really_ did not want to imagine. Not that they wouldn’t be an attractive couple, the insecure part of her concedes. They’re both…extraordinary. And they understand each other in ways others can’t. Perhaps all this time spent with Beca has clouded her vision of reality.

“Chloe, are you okay?” Beca asks gently.

Chloe looks up and nods eagerly. “Yes!” She says, scrambling to find the pieces of herself she’d let wander. “Sorry, just zoned out a bit.”

She feels Aubrey squeeze her hand, and she turns to reassure her with a smile.

“Right, then,” Beca mumbles. She then turns her notebook around to show them the page of notes she had been writing earlier. In a firmer voice, she continues. “The first update is that the Henry Cole case has found its way to internal affairs. Someone has blown the whistle on those cops, and they’re scrambling now to find the dirty ones protecting Cole.”

“Oh good,” Stacie says with a chuckle, “glad my anonymous tip went to good use.”

“ _You_ reported the feds at the shoot-out?” Beca asks incredulously. “ _Why?_ You _know_ that can backfire.”

“It’ll be fine.” Stacie shrugs. “Couple of reasons. One, takes the heat off Chloe for a bit. Second, when they start _actually_ looking for Aubrey, they’ll probably assume Cole took her, so once we kill Cole, you’re going to be exonerated. Both of you will get your job and your lives back.”

Aubrey gasps. “You mean…?”

Stacie looks at Aubrey with a smile caught between joy and heartbreak. “You’ll go back to the force. Might even get a promotion for your efforts. It’s everything you want. Even Chloe—there’s enough evidence to get you a self-defense verdict, and we know a great lawyer, so…your old life will be yours if you want it.” Stacie shrugs. “I told you—I think ahead. Even if I didn’t trust you a hundred percent, I trusted you enough when I brought you here.”

Chloe’s heart rate picks up. Her old life. She can see the cogs in Aubrey’s head turning too—she’s as stunned as she is. The anger on her face dissipating altogether, but…

Something tugs at Chloe, and she wonders if Aubrey feels it too.

“You’re jumping too many steps ahead, Stace,” Beca says, her quiet voice like a bolt from the blue in the heavy silence. She glances at Chloe, her expression unreadable, then turns back to her notebook. “Lilly’s informant tells us that it’s chaos within the police, which means nobody is looking out for Cole right now. They _might_ be looking for Aubrey, since she’s responsible for the reports, but we don’t know. Important thing right now is that he’s still at large, and he’s increased the bounty to one point five.”

“Shit,” Stacie groans. “I should’ve caught that this morning.”

Beca shakes her head. “You _really_ needed to sleep. Either way, he seems to have made new connections within the Yakuza.” Lilly tugs her arm and whispers something in her ear. “Sorry, the triad, or at least some offshoot of the triads. Likely from Hong Kong,” Beca continues. “There’s been sightings of them on his old turf and rumours that he may not be in this country anymore.”

Aubrey straightens. “Hold on, what? He can’t leave. Surely, there would be records of it and he’d be apprehended almost immediately when he lands. He wouldn’t give up everything he has to flee to Asia—we wouldn’t have jurisdiction, but neither would he. Even if he escapes capture at the airport, he’d likely facing harsher sentences if he’s caught over there too. He’d be risking _everything_ and that isn’t his MO. George Cole is manipulative, but he isn’t a gambler. Not unless his odds are _exceptionally_ good.”

“Do you think he’s feeding false information to throw us off his trail? Like, he knows we’re after him?” Stacie asks.

Aubrey shakes her head. “I don't know. I doubt he knows it’s _us_ in particular, but he’s sure to be keeping tabs about who’s asking about him. He likely views Henry’s death as a warning, and his murderer’s disappearance is proof enough that there’s _someone_ plotting against him. I don’t know if he’s aware of Beca’s existence since multiple people saw you with Chloe that day.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Beca says. When she’s met with questioning eyes, she looks to Stacie, who raises her brow.

A length of silence later, Stacie rubs a hand down her face. “Fine, you want me to tell them? I don’t get what difference that makes.”

Beca nods, dropping her eyes to the table and gluing them there.

“Even if people saw Beca that day,” Stacie explains, “they’re not going to find her.”

“Why?” Chloe asks, alarmed.

Stacie flashes Chloe a sympathetic smile and a shake of her head. “Because technically, Beca Mitchell doesn’t exist.”

Aubrey narrows her eyes at Beca. “What do you mean?”

“She died in a car accident when she was five, along with both of her parents. On paper only, obviously. The real, totally alive Beca was rescued and put in an orphanage, but when my grandmother adopted the both of us, she made sure the world only knew Beca as a ghost.”

“It’s…why I can’t get a phone,” Beca says, in an attempt to lighten the mood, “among other things.”

“So…you _don’t_ pay taxes,” Chloe mumbles, nodding in comprehension.

“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Aubrey gasps.

Chloe shrugs. “It’s been bugging me.”

“No,” Beca says, smiling weakly, “I don’t.”

“And I’d be very impressed if Cole makes the leap to find me,” Stacie chuckles. “Or he’s secretly as a huge _Car Babes_ fan,” she adds, tossing Aubrey a wink.

Aubrey rolls her eyes, but dismisses the comment. “If he’s looking for Chloe and he has cops on his side, then he’s probably already found me,” she sighs.

“It’s possible,” Beca says thoughtfully. “But I think the first thing we should do is find out if he’s still in town.”

“Except we can’t, because Lilly’s network might be getting false info,” Stacie continues. “And if Lilly’s compromised, I don’t trust other networks.”

Chloe looks over at Lilly for the first time in a while, and is surprised to find her happily snacking on a bowl of popcorn. When and _how_ did she make popcorn without any of them noticing?

Lilly puts her bowl down when they mention her name, and tugs Beca in to whisper in her ear once more. Chloe’s eyes dart between them. Now is not the time, she tells her green companion, but _god_ she wants to be able to whisper so easily in Beca’s ear too.

“Lilly is proposing a trap,” Beca says with a frown. She keeps her attention on Lilly, who sits back and makes gestures Chloe doesn’t understand. Beca translates slowly, “She says we can bring Cole out. With bait, I’m assuming.” Beca shakes her head. “Lils, no. That’s crazy. There’s, like, _hundreds_ of mercs out there. I’m not going to throw Chloe and Aubrey into danger like that.”

Lilly rolls her eyes, and pulls out her little keyboard device once more. “All I said is that we set a trap to lure Cole out. I was thinking doppelgängers.”

Suddenly, Stacie brightens. “I don’t know what that means, _but_ that isn’t a bad idea.”

“You…want to find random women who look like us?” Aubrey asks with a raise of her brow.

“You know that’s impossible,” Stacie says with a grin. “But there’s other ways of getting his attention. If it’s true that he’s allowing the triad into his territory, we can stir shit up. Take down some of the key players in that area. No group within any black society, big or small, take kindly to people messing with their family. If Cole offered them some kind of way to lay the groundwork in that area and expand their operations, but they start suddenly losing guys under Cole’s supposed protection—that can look pretty bad for Georgie.” Stacie gestures at Lilly. “Of course, I’m just thinking out loud here. What do you think?”

Lilly shrugs. “Doppelgängers would be more fun. I can summon a couple for you, if you want,” she types out.

“Uh, I think we’re good,” Beca says, cringing.

“Yeah, one Aubrey is more than enough in this world,” Stacie laughs.

“I can say the same for you,” Aubrey shoots back with a glare.

Chloe glances at Beca and her pink, embarrassed expression. She wouldn’t mind a few more Becas, she thinks, biting down a smile.

“Anyway, that’s a plan,” Stacie says, “admittedly, it’s more than we’ve had in a week. We good?”

“Hold on.” Aubrey holds up a hand. “If we follow through, we’d risk is alarming Cole further. If he catches even the slightest whiff of any of us…even you, Beca—he’ll bring you back to life just to kill you,” Aubrey adds. “Not to mention, I find it unethical that we should execute these men before they have the chance to prove their innocence.”

“ _Unethical_ ,” Stacie says pointedly as she jabs her fork into her forgotten quinoa bowl, “is stripping a hard-working agent of her position and reputation to protect a gangster while they poison the streets, Aubrey.”

“That’s…that’s not the same thing,” Aubrey insists, albeit with a little less force than usual. She frowns, then says, “You’re talking about Cole here. The people in the triad—we don’t know what they’re doing yet. Do they deserve to die by association?”

Beca turns to Lilly. “Do you know anything about these new people?”

Lilly shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stacie starts to say.

“It does,” Aubrey cuts in. “Whether you admit it or not, you are in the business of ethics, just as we are.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, _officer_ , I thought we were trying to save Chloe and get rid of the man ruining both _your_ lives and the lives of _thousands_ of people. I didn’t realize we were having a fucking tea party and flouncing around with _philosophy_ here,” Stacie says stabbing her bowl with her fork several more times with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Chloe and Beca exchange worried looks as the temperature in the room seems to spike.

“Wow, what a mature way to handle disagreement,” Aubrey replies with a roll of her eyes. “I’m sorry we can’t all be as cavalier as you about taking lives. The world would be on fire.”

Stacie drops her fork in her bowl and clasps her hands together, as if in prayer. “The world _is_ on fire,” she says, voice strained with frustration. “Oh my god, how do you not see it? It sees the value of life _exactly_ the way I see it. You don’t think our society decides who lives and who dies every day? You don’t think you’re _just like me_ when you’re choosing a random gangster’s life over those they hurt the most?”

“It’s called the benefit of doubt, Stacie,” Aubrey replies, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re deciding the value of these so-called gangsters’ lives before they even _do_ anything. Your whole noble vigilante bullshit is moot when you’re making the exact same judgments that you accuse _us_ of making.”

Stacie scoffs. “So, what? Should we watch and wait for people to get hurt? Should we wait for the cops and the government and the whole fucking world to catch up and _do_ something? How many does it take to satisfy your _benefit of the doubt_?”

“You guys,” Chloe says weakly, just as Aubrey opened her mouth to respond. “Stop this. We’re not—we’re not fighting each other.”

Aubrey softens and covers Chloe’s hand on her table with her own to give it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry, Chlo, but this is important. I can’t just stand by and be okay with taking innocent lives without considering the repercussions. I know you wouldn’t want to have this on your conscience either.”

“Look,” Stacie says through notes of barely contained rage, “we might be on opposite sides of the law, but we aren’t monsters. Our _conscience_ is clear, even if our ethics aren’t clear to _you_. It’s not like we’ve never wrestled with what we do—we aren’t total psychopaths. Just because we don’t prioritize our empathy it doesn’t mean we aren’t capable of it, you know. Sometimes…the end has to justify the means. It’s…it’s how our world works.”

Aubrey glances around at the table uncomfortably, unsure what to say to the way Stacie is glaring at her, her hurt clear for the world to see.

“Stacie’s right,” Beca says quietly, in an attempt to break through the tension. “We are on opposite sides of the law, and the things we see aren’t what you see. If the feds saw half the bounties that come in, and knew the kind of crimes people want justice for, maybe they’d do better. Sometimes, people will offer their last twenty bucks to sleep in peace knowing someone who hurt them is dead. It isn’t always gangsters and in-fighting.” There are stories there, Chloe realizes. She wonders often which of these keep her up at night, but Beca goes on without giving her a moment to dwell. “But Aubrey is also right. We don’t know these people. They could be new immigrants stuck in a bad place because they’re denied jobs elsewhere. Every story has another side—you know this, Stace.”

“Yes, but would you rather sit around and do nothing and wait for them to find us?” Stacie says irritably. “I’m not the bad guy here for wanting to get you guys back to your lives! Isn’t that what you want?”

“No one is saying you’re the bad guy, Stacie!” Aubrey shouts in frustration. “I’m just saying there’s _got_ to be another way that doesn’t involve more senseless killing.”

“It isn’t _senseless_ —it’s utilitarian,” Stacie says, raising her voice to match. “Leaving these people alone is what leads to senseless killing!” 

“Stop,” Beca says calmly, reaching over to press a hand against Stacie’s chest when she starts to get up. Stacie glares, anger burning like a wildfire behind her eyes. Beca goes on, unaffected. “I’ll do some recon. Lilly can do some additional digging in the meantime.”

At the mention of Lilly, Chloe notices for the first time that she is no longer beside her. Nobody seems to know when or how she disappeared, but nobody seems as alarmed by it as she is. Beca simply gestures to the empty chair while Stacie and Aubrey stare down intensely, as if trying to claw into each other’s brains. Chloe gapes at the chair, wide-eyed, and says nothing.

“You’re right,” Stacie concedes, her walls crashing all the way down in a split second. “Maybe I did get a little bit ahead of myself there. It was just a suggestion.” She stands, taking her dishes with her. “A recon…sounds good. I’ll go make preparations.”

Aubrey stands too, catching Stacie by her elbow as she passes. “Just so you know,” Aubrey says quietly, her expression torn, “I would never think you’re a monster.” She clears her throat, glancing uncomfortably at Beca. “And I mean that in plural—both of you.”

Stacie scoffs, flashing a sardonic smile that is simultaneously more dangerous and more fragile than Chloe has ever seen it, and pulls away. “Thanks,” she says simply.

“I’ll go with you,” Beca says, though it falls on deaf ears. Chloe whips around to face Beca with a frown. She’ll be okay, Beca mouths with a sheepish smile. She then calls out for Aubrey, who is stunned into silence as she watches Stacie walk away.

“Aubrey,” Beca says again, rounding the table this time to tap her on the shoulder. Aubrey turns, confused. “I’ll go down to the lab to work something out with Stacie. We can reconvene at dinner.”

At the word ‘dinner,’ Aubrey scowls. “Sure,” she says abruptly.

Beca sighs, shifting her weight onto her other foot uncomfortably. “You know, Stacie…can be stubborn, and she can seem difficult, but…she cares a lot about what people think. More than she’d admit to anyone, including herself. Especially people she cares about.”

Aubrey exhales, rubbing her forehead in frustration. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

“It’s cool,” Beca says, holding up her hands. “Like, you don’t have to explain. Not to me anyway. It is what it is. But maybe, um, I’ll go downstairs and help her cool down for a bit. You hang out with Chloe for a bit.”

“That’s…for the best,” Aubrey says, looking away.

She’s upset—that much is clear to Chloe.

So, Chloe gets up too, and wraps Aubrey up in a hug. Though there is so much she doesn’t understand, she knows how much Aubrey hates being upset in front of others. When she feels Aubrey tense up against her shoulder, she waves for Beca to go.

See you tonight, Beca mouths with a sheepish smile. Chloe nods, flashing her a thumbs-up behind Aubrey’s back. When the sound of Beca’s footsteps fade away, Aubrey wraps her arms around Chloe’s shoulder and squeezes the fabric of her shirt.

“She’s so annoying,” Aubrey mumbles.

Chloe chuckles but says nothing, patting the back of Aubrey’s head until Aubrey begins to relax against her. When she finally pulls away, her expression is conflicted. “Am I wrong?” She asks in a small voice.

“About what?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she sighs. “Everything?”

Chloe hums. “I don’t know,” she confesses. “But…maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

* * *

“Stop lurking around the corner, Beca. I can see you,” Stacie says without looking up from the laptop she’s typing into.

Beca points at the glasses connected through a cable. “You seem real intense about fixing this little guy,” she says.

“I’m not letting those glitches happen again on a mission. I was thinking I can probably get everything prepared for recon tomorrow night,” Stacie replies.

“Okay,” Beca says sitting herself in a rolling chair on the other side of the bench.

“Alright,” Stacie says, looking up at her with a raised brow.

“Yup.” Beca nods.

“Stop being weird and say whatever you want to say, dude. I’m not in the mood for games,” Stacie grumbles impatiently.

Beca rolls her chair a little closer to the workbench and clutches the edge of the table, peering over it and up at Stacie standing at her laptop. The table is taller than the seated Beca, and Stacie would laugh at how much she looks like a guilty child, if it weren’t for the concerned expression on her face.

“You dreamt about her last night, didn’t you?” Beca asks quietly. “Sofia?”

Stacie freezes. She stares at her laptop screen, seeing and feeling only Beca’s eyes on her. “No,” she says, swallowing.

“Stacie.”

“I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. I heard her when you were arguing with Aubrey.”

Stacie raises her eyes. “Fine. Maybe,” she whispers. “I don’t…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Beca hums, and allows the silence to stretch on. The clacking of Stacie’s typing has a soothing kind of rhythm to it, but Stacie herself is as tense as ever. Beca studies her best friend’s face—the furrow of her brows, and the slight pursing of her lips. She imagines the noise inside her mind. Like the flutter of a hundred thousand sticky notes, constantly pouring into her brain like a waterfall, Stacie described it once. Gentle, but loud.

Beca rests her chin on crossed arms on the table, watching her work silently. She’s hiding—Beca knows—deep within herself. She remembers shy eight-year-old Stacie in her first year here. She cried so much, over just about everything, and Sofia tried to solve far too many problems by locking them into small, dark spaces with only the most insidious words to keep them company. Stacie learned quickly—they both did, and while Beca learned not to mind the darkness so much, Stacie learned the exact opposite. Chase the light; avoid the dark at all costs.

If she hides, she’ll never be caught—and Stacie got so good at hiding. Really, Beca realizes now, she’s so good at it that even Stacie herself doesn’t know when she’s doing it. She doesn’t even know what she’s hiding _from_ , especially when Sofia gets in her head the way she does sometimes.

“You really like Aubrey, don’t you?” Beca asks suddenly.

Stacie inhales sharply. “I like her a normal amount,” she says flatly.

“Really?” Beca says thoughtfully, tilting her head. “Well... maybe you won’t be able to relate, but,” she takes a deep breath, “I...I like Chloe a lot. I think…maybe more than I should. I don’t…know what it is yet, or maybe I’m just, like, not ready to know what it is. The way she makes me feel is…pretty terrifying.”

Stacie meets her eyes, her expression soft. She knows as well as Beca does what this means. How _big_ this is for Beca.

In a way, Stacie feels partially responsible for Beca’s aversion to it all—love, trust…maybe even happiness. If it weren’t for her clinging to Beca at the orphanage and refusing to be adopted without her, she never would’ve had to endure Sofia. She may have found another home, one with space for love. She wouldn’t have been treated like little more than a family pet whose one job is to protect her master. It took Stacie years to undo the damage Sofia did, and likely years more to convince Beca she is just as worthy of everything good in this world as anybody else.

What Stacie doesn’t fully understand is that in spite of all this progress, there are days when Beca remains unconvinced. She doesn’t want to let Stacie down or for her to think she’s undoing all her hard work. It’s just hard to admit how much this really matters to her. Hard to show Stacie the guilt she’s been harbouring for having feelings at all. She had been determined to keep this inside, but Stacie needs her now.

Stacie needs to know she’s not alone. And never will be.

“I know they’ll probably go back to their lives and stuff,” Beca pushes on, allowing her vulnerability to finally breathe, “And I know how different we are. She deserves…I don’t know. More?” Beca buries her face in the crook of her arm. “It’s fucking crazy, Stace. I’ve known her for less than two weeks, and I’m already…forgetting what it’s like before her. I know none of this really matters, but…is it so bad to want something I don’t deserve?”

“Beca,” Stacie says, reaching across the table to touch her elbow. “Don’t say things like that. Please. It...it’s just _her_ talking.”

Beca looks up with a wry smile. “I know, but I can’t help it. Tell me you don’t feel the same about Aubrey?”

Stacie massages her eyelids with a thumb and forefinger and lets out a breathy, humourless laugh. Beca saw right through her.

“I do,” Stacie says bitterly. “I know exactly how I feel about her, and I have nowhere to put these feelings. These overwhelming, itchy feelings for a woman who hates me. I’m starting to think it’s a pattern, chasing after love that doesn’t and can’t exist.”

“I think she cares about you a lot,” Beca says quietly. “You didn’t see her face when you left.”

“Don’t, Beca,” Stacie pleads. “Don’t make this harder.”

“Sorry,” Beca says, pushing herself up to sit properly in her chair, “but…as your friend, I... I don’t want to see Sofia ruin your life any more than she already did when she was living. It’s easy…hiding from your own feelings—even if it’s what she taught us. It’s harder, I think, to accept that there’s a person out there capable of making you happy and breaking your heart at the same time. It’s…fucking scary…but…even if…even if your heart breaks, Stace, I’ll be here. So…don’t let her hold you back from something so important. You’ll fix my heart just as I’ll fix yours. Just like we used to.”

Finally, Stacie cracks a smile. “Just like we used to.”

“Yeah,” Beca says, smiling back. “You’re my family, dude. I love you.”

“Yeah. I love you too, you sappy nerd.”

* * *

Aubrey watches Cotton, soundly asleep on Chloe’s lap, while Chloe lays back with her eyes closed and a small smile on her face.

“I’ve never been out here,” Aubrey says conversationally, warming her hands on a mug of tea as she sits in the lounger with one leg crossed over the other. She looks over at the bag of straw, leaning against the balustrade and the big cage beside it. “This is where the little one lives, isn’t it?”

It’s a beautiful day—blue sky streaked with wispy clouds.

“Yep!” Chloe says, absently stroking Cotton’s fur with her eyes still closed. “She’s so sweet.”

Aubrey smooths out her yellow dress with a free hand. “It’s funny,” she says, her tone contemplative, “seeing you with that bunny makes me realize I’m starting to forget what our apartment looks like. It’s going to be weird going back to that shoebox.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says softly.

“Can I ask you something, Chlo?”

Chloe opens her eyes and turns her head, her inquisitive gaze meeting Aubrey’s. “What’s up?”

“Why did you join law enforcement?”

Chloe hums, taps a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “You know…I’m not sure. Maybe because you seemed so passionate about it.”

Aubrey sits up. “What—Chloe, are you serious? You worked so hard to get in because you felt like _I_ was passionate about it?”

Chloe doesn’t move—she doesn’t even open her eyes, as if oblivious to Aubrey’s alarm. “I mean, I’ve never been passionate about anything. Or even good at anything, I don’t think. Just felt easier to go with your passion, I guess.”

“That’s not true, Chloe,” Aubrey says gently.

“I don’t mind being kinda ordinary,” Chloe laughs. “I mean, people tell me I’m pretty and I’m a half-decent singer. I’m able-bodied, reasonably intelligent, I guess, and I’m not burdened by a whole lot of obligations. I’m really lucky, I think, and maybe that’s enough, you know? I don’t need to be a hero or a celebrity, and I don’t need to change the world. I just want to be a good person and live a good life.”

“There’s gotta be something you want to accomplish in this world, Chlo. Right?” Aubrey says swinging her legs off the lounger now to sit closer to her friend. “Something…bigger?”

Chloe hums. “Might be nice to get married and live in a nice big house on a large plot of land to rescue animals and stuff.”

Aubrey hesitates. “You mean a house like this one? And…animals like the one in your lap?” She says slowly.

Chloe opens her eyes, bright blue against the afternoon sun, and turns to Aubrey with a sheepish smile. “I guess so. But…it’s just a thought. What about you, Bree? What do you want to accomplish?”

Unexpectedly, it isn’t the question that catches Aubrey off-guard. It’s the utter lack of an answer when she’s always _had_ an answer. She’d spent her life chasing accomplishment. Moving up, falling down, climbing back up—as long as she stayed in constant motion, everything made sense. But now the answer completely evades her, and she’s at an utter loss.

“I want to catch Cole, of course. Move my way back up. If the FBI won’t have me back, I can at least move up the ranks at the precinct. Making captain sounds nice,” she says. The words feel weightless, almost inconsequential, and she hopes Chloe doesn’t notice. The way she is scrutinizing her makes her feel raw and open, and she doesn’t understand it.

“That sounds nice,” is all Chloe says. And that’s more than enough for Aubrey to mull over. Until Chloe asks, “Is that what makes you happy?”

“W-what?”

“Chasing ranks and stuff. I mean, what happens after you become captain, or even if you go back to the FBI—will you be happy? Cause, you know, that’s all I really want for you, Bree.”

Aubrey looks down at her hands in her lap, unsure what else to say.

Chloe shifts in her chair, then pushes herself up, careful not to wake Cotton. “Aubrey,” she says softly, tilting her head to meet her eyes. “This is about Stacie, isn’t it?”

Aubrey catches Chloe’s imploring eyes. She doesn’t want to lie, but she doesn’t know what to say when she hasn’t allowed herself the time to sort through the mess of feelings.

“I know… you don’t like getting emotionally involved with anybody, especially after…her. But if you have a good feeling about Stacie…”

“I don’t know if I do,” Aubrey replies quickly. “Maybe a part of me does, but…I also had a good feeling about Anna.”

“True,” Chloe says thoughtfully. “But I didn’t. She was too aloof, and super controlling and I didn’t like the way she treated you whenever you had a bad day.”

“Well, I can’t help that I have…anger issues, I guess,” Aubrey says with a humourless chuckle. “But you were right—I should’ve listened to you.”

“Will you listen to me now if I said I have a good feeling about Stacie?”

Aubrey smirks. “Probably not.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Stacie is anything like Anna.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Aubrey says. “This is pointless—I’ve…I’m pretty sure I’ve burned all my bridges with Stacie by now.”

“You’ve been at each other’s throats for almost two weeks, Bree. I think she’ll survive,” Chloe says lightly.

But you didn’t see her face, she doesn’t say. Chloe didn’t see the way she opened up this morning, the way she looked at her with such genuine adoration in her eyes, adoration Aubrey did nothing to deserve. Chloe didn’t see the way she shut all the way down in that one moment. Stacie wears her hurt like a ten-foot wall, and it eats her up inside more than she can admit, knowing that she put it there. 

“You should talk to her, Bree,” Chloe says. “You’ll make it worse if you just keep thinking about it.”

“She…said she’d make me dinner tonight, actually,” Aubrey says with a sigh. “I don’t think that’s happening now, but I was looking forward to it.”

Unexpectedly, when she looks up at Chloe, she’s scooping Cotton up into her arms with a big grin on her face. “Aubrey, that’s perfect.”

“What?”

“Dinner!” Chloe exclaims, standing up excitedly. “What better way to apologize than to make her dinner? That’s, like, turning the tables and everything!”

“Oh…I…guess I can do that,” Aubrey says skeptically. But Chloe is already depositing Cotton back into his cage and pulling Aubrey up by the wrist.

“C’mon,” Chloe says, “we’ve got work to do.”

* * *

It’s a quarter to seven when Stacie realizes Beca still hasn’t come back. She’d set out upstairs half an hour ago, in search of dinner. The word leaves a stinging slap to Stacie’s memory of just this morning, when she’d promised, in the warmth of her bed, to make Aubrey dinner. She’d imagined candlelight, a double date, laughing over wine and _really_ seeing each other for the first time.

There’s a stab of guilt for the promise she’s breaking, but the word “monster” is still echoing in her head. Try as she does, she can’t completely deny that she did _not_ think twice about taking the lives of these newcomers. She was thinking about efficiency and taking down Cole. The rest isn’t important—they’re just bodies. Obstacles. Less significant to her than an orange cone on the road.

Maybe that’s what makes her a monster, like Sofia said.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, she supposes as she spins around in her chair.

Beca must’ve fallen asleep, she thinks. Good thing they’ve gotten most of their planning done already. She rolls her chair over to the glasses sitting on her desk. In their last run, the Precision Protocol was still glitching. She can work on this until whenever Beca wakes up. Or until dawn breaks. Strangely, her usual fervour for her projects is nowhere to be found.

She places the glasses back on the desk. Maybe she should take a shower. Or work out for a bit. Maybe she can give Jessica a call to work out the kinks with her for a couple of hours before she goes to bed.

Stacie stretches in her seat, and feels her mind drifting for the sake of something to do. It conjures up the image of unfettered green eyes, and she quickly reins it back in.

Work, she thinks, there’s gotta be something else to do.

She doesn’t expect the footsteps coming down to the lab. Least of all who those footsteps belong to. But when she spins around in her chair and takes in the sight of Aubrey in her beautiful, yellow dress holding a silver tray of food, she feels a stab in her gut. Nerves, perhaps, or dread. Hope or despair. How can so many extremes exist along the same plane, within the same vacuum of feelings she has for this woman, she wonders in awe. Perhaps it’s just a little too fitting for a woman like Aubrey.

“Hi,” Aubrey says, almost sheepishly. “I made dinner.”

It takes Stacie a moment to take in the simple statement. A moment longer to process the implications, and yet another to bully her heart into staying put. She recognizes the guilt of a broken promise bubbling in her gut. To break the grip of Aubrey’s cool gaze, she picks up her bravado and crosses her arms. “So you did,” she says. “Did you wear a sexy apron? Let me watch next time you try it nude.”

Aubrey scoffs. “You should probably taste the food first before you joke about me cooking again. I’m a pretty terrible cook.”

Stacie’s glances at the tray as Aubrey sets it down on her desk, then back up at Aubrey without hiding her skepticism. On the tray are two plates of pretty normal-looking spaghetti with some kind of tomato-based sauce. Haphazardly diced mushrooms poke out from the sauce, but otherwise nothing looks or smells off. “It’s not poisoned, is it?” Stacie says, pointing at the plate. “‘Cause who messes up spaghetti?”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “I have the tendency to mess up a lot of things,” she mumbles.

She doesn’t know what she expected from Stacie, but the instant prickle of annoyance still surprises her when Stacie laughs. “Yeah, you do,” she says quietly.

Stacie looks surprised by her own comment, but at least she’s smiling again, Aubrey sighs as she tries to wrestle back her calm.

At Aubrey’s silence, however, Stacie tentatively touches her elbow. “It’s okay,” she says, “it’s good to mess up now and again. I’m sure the stick up your ass gets tired of propping you up all the time.”

“You’re _really_ obsessed with that stick, you know that?” Aubrey says, placing the plate in front of Stacie with a fork wrapped in a napkin.

Stacie raises her brow, then reaches over to swap Aubrey’s plate with her own, earning another eye roll from Aubrey. She then unfurls the napkin and picks up the fork, stating matter-of-factly that “I’m not obsessed with that stick. I’m obsessed with your ass.”

Aubrey, who had been winding her spaghetti into a tight ball around her fork, nearly chokes on her own saliva. “Jesus,” she says—the steady beat of annoyance turns into frustration when her spaghetti ball starts to fall apart. “Will you ever stop?”

“Never,” Stacie says with a grin. She then slurps up a mouthful of spaghetti, which Aubrey pauses her spaghetti twirling to watch with disgust. “Wow.”

“What? Is it bad?” Aubrey’s stare is hard, but her heart hammers at the thought of accidentally poisoning Stacie with her awful food. She had Chloe triple check that she’d used salt instead of sugar, like she was prone to whenever she cooked for the two of them.

“It’s…super bland,” Stacie says picking up another forkful nonetheless. “Did you add salt?”

“Yes,” Aubrey huffs. She takes a bite and goddammit of course she’s right. Why did she think _this_ would be the one time this cooking thing would work out in her favour? “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” she says, glaring at her plate.

Stacie shrugs, staring ahead as she chews and swallows. “Beca and I had a lot worse in the first year we were on our own,” she says. “My grandmother left us…pretty suddenly,” she clears her throat uncomfortably, “so we ate what was around here for a solid six months before we finally figured out we should probably learn to survive in the twenty-first century. Y’know that little rabbit Beca picked up? Would’ve been a nice meal for the two of us back then.”

Aubrey nods slowly.

“My father was an alcoholic.” She hears herself say unexpectedly. She cringes a little—she hadn’t meant to be so honest, but she won’t take it back now, not when Stacie opened her heart so easily. “My mother was—is—a nervous wreck who barely leaves her room. They loved me in their own way, I’m sure, but they were never around, both physically and emotionally. Guess I should be better at cooking than I am.” She twirls her fork—she can feel Stacie’s eyes boring into her profile, but she doesn’t meet her eyes. She feels exposed enough as it is.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clink of silverware on china. “Good thing you’ve got me then,” Stacie says. There’s a resigned smile in her voice, and only slight breathiness giving away her discomfort. “I’m not sending you back into the world without flavour in your food.”

Aubrey nods again, and they fall into silence as they eat.

Aubrey can’t pinpoint when the inevitable return to her shoebox apartment became such a threat. She’d been clear since the beginning, to herself and Chloe, that they weren’t going to stay here. They have lives to go back to.

Don’t they?

As she chews, she gazes up at Stacie’s dense walls of text and formulas floating above her in translucent blue. And she remembers she’s been working all this time to give them back the life they had. It should be a sweet gesture, she thinks, but it feels like a slap in the face. It _is_ sweet, Aubrey corrects herself. She’s been working tirelessly for them, and she should be grateful. She _is_ grateful.

Anna would never do something so thoughtful without letting the world know. If she did anything a fraction so kind, she would just use it as ammo to threaten her with every time she wants to leave. The sudden memory of her ex-girlfriend-almost-fiancée tearing her down and sweet talking her back up floats to the surface as she looks over at Stacie.

They’re really nothing alike—she doesn’t know why she’s thinking of Anna now. The Anna Rose Smith she met in the coffee shop all those years ago was captivating, free-spirited, and a hopeless flirt. She was an aspiring model who made her coffee, signing her cup with a heart and her phone number every morning until she called. The attraction was immediate and intense, and for the first time in her life, Aubrey tossed reason aside and let herself fall, missing every red flag on her way down for the next two years. Until the day Anna Rose Smith cleaned out her apartment, taking everything she had including her fingerprint, her security badge, her hard drive, and her heart. All she left was the set of rings Aubrey had bought months ago, and the humiliation of her red-faced superiors slamming down the file of one Anastasia Kuznetsov.

Fuck Anastasia.

Never again.

She can’t give her heart away so quickly. Ever. Again.

Stacie looks like Anna, Aubrey admits. In that tall, dark, mischievous way. And her humour and her flirtatious nature are reminiscent of those blissful early days. They even bear the same burdens of secrecy, especially when the walls came down hard.

And yet Chloe is right—they’re nothing alike. Even if Aubrey can’t quite put a finger on why that is.

“You’re staring at me pretty hard,” Stacie says out of the blue. She’s looking ahead at a string of numbers floating above her monitor.

Aubrey blinks. Stacie’s plate is almost sparkling clean, while she’d barely touched her food.

“You okay?” Stacie asks, turning toward her with an arched brow.

“Oh. Yeah. Just thinking,” Aubrey mumbles, poking at her lukewarm dinner.

Stacie chuckles as she goes back to her numbers. “Thinking about how you’ve finally fallen in love with me?”

She leans back, then proceeds to slip off her chair when Aubrey says, “Yes.” Her chair rolls backwards, colliding into the metal table and knocking over a pile of junk with a loud crash. Stacie, meanwhile, is sprawled on the floor, bewildered.

“I was kidding,” Aubrey whispers in disbelief. Then, to both of their surprise, she bursts into laughter. Loud and unrestrained, she doubles over.

Stacie pushes herself up and dusts herself off, her eyes still a little wide with shock and her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment as she drags her chair back over.

Maybe Anna never loved her the way Stacie seems to. That’s where they differ.

Wait.

The uninvited, unwelcome thought hits her like a bucket of cold water and immediately sobers her. She slaps a hand over her mouth to hide the shock of this revelation.

This is just the way Stacie is, the logical part of her argues—she isn’t—she can’t be in love with her. They’ve known each other for less than two weeks, and she’s done nothing to warrant her attention. But that _look_ this morning, the innermost depths of her mind screams. What the hell was that _look_?

“That was mean,” Stacie mumbles, pulling her chair back and falling into it, seemingly oblivious to Aubrey’s sudden quiet.

Aubrey rolls her chair closer, and Stacie flinches.

Is she…?

She chalks it up to innocent curiosity when she moves closer still, leaning into her space until she can hear the hitch of Stacie’s breath as she pushes back in her seat, desperately putting space between them.

“What—what are you doing?” Stacie snaps. She hits a table when Aubrey advances too far, and flinches when Aubrey grabs both armrests without a word.

Aubrey smirks—she’s close enough now to see the panic in Stacie’s eyes. It triggers something inside her, something begging to tease and poke and make her squirm. Maybe it’s a little sadistic desire for revenge, after all the times Stacie said things just to get her angry or flustered or both.

For the first time in a long while, she feels powerful, and she’s going to run with it as far as she can.

“Stacie,” Aubrey says in a low voice.

Stacie’s leaning back, her arms crossed to protect herself from whatever she thinks is happening. “What?” She says, annoyed.

“Are you in love with me?”

Stacie’s eyes widen ever so slightly, her lips parted. She looks away, her cheeks pink, and Aubrey wants to tease her for it. But Stacie grips her crossed arms tighter, and though she can’t quite meet Aubrey’s eyes, she keeps her back straight, undaunted, when she clears her throat. “Yes,” she declares. “I thought that was obvious.”

Aubrey drops her hands from Stacie’s armrests in disbelief, the power she felt draining through them in an instant. So much for running with it—she barely got past the starting line. She expected her to deny it, to argue back, pink-faced and flustered. But the honesty and the sureness with which she said yes, as if it were the only truth in this world—it sets Aubrey’s heart on fire. And what is she supposed to do with _that_?

“You don’t have to look that surprised,” Stacie says, rubbing the back of her neck. “You must’ve known—at least a little. You’re too perceptive not to. But,” she shrugs a little, a resigned smile on her face, “my feelings are irrelevant to what we’re doing here, and I’m not going to push them on you. Don’t worry.”

Stacie is kinder than Anna ever was. She’s too intelligent for her own good, too assuming, too broken up by the patterns in her life to recognize her own selflessness. She’s everything Anna wasn’t.

And Aubrey swallows. “What about my feelings?” She blurts.

Stacie smiles and shakes her head. “I don’t think you know what they are yet,” she says gently. “And even if you did, I think you already know there’s no future for us.” She leans forward then, and presses a kiss to Aubrey’s cheek. She then pushes her back at a distance, still close but miles away at the same time. Too vulnerable to meet her eyes. Finally, Stacie stands, picks up the dirty dishes, and heads upstairs.

Aubrey, all alone in the lab, sits staring at Stacie’s empty seat. There is no rush of blood, no bells and whistles. There’s only a looming sense of loss hanging on her shoulders and a heavy, heavy kiss on her cheek.

She touches it lightly, feeling more lost than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Happy Wednesday. My god, these chapters are getting long, aren't they? This one was a whopping 15k! I'm expecting chapter 7 to be between 13-15k as well. Woo!
> 
> This is a bit of a Staubrey-centric chapter, but their relationship is just a tad more complicated, I think. Well, they're definitely a bit more stubborn. I wanted to get this chapter out as fast as I could because I feel like chapters 5 and 6 really go well together. 7 and 8 will see a bit more of everything, so I may have to spend a little more time revising before the next update. There are a few kinks I'm working out, but we are really taking off, aren't we? 
> 
> I can honestly write essays about everything happening here, because I love them so much. But instead, I’m going to take at least two weeks to edit chapters 7 and 8 some more. They’re kind of tied together in the same way I felt 5 and 6 are, so I definitely want to release them within the week of each other. If you do want to hear the inner workings of my mind, hit me up on Twitter @fireroastedmoo. It’s the Wild West in there when it comes to this story. 
> 
> This weekend, I also stepped away from this story for a couple of days to work on a little one-shot. I needed to reset my brain and come back fresh and see this story with new eyes again. It's a Staubrey fic about a couple of new girl friends doing mundane things at a convention--a breath of fresh air from the volatility of these two here--so please check it out if you have a moment :) It's called Red Shirt, Blue Shirt. 
> 
> As always, I'm super delighted to be getting comments throughout the week. Thank you guys so much for the ongoing support. 
> 
> P.S. Lilly's here!! Only two more Bellas left to meet ;)


	7. The Fall

Aubrey is sitting alone on a mat in the middle of the gym after a fitful night’s sleep. She hasn’t seen Stacie since dinner last night, but it’s like she never left, with the way the night hung over her head, looping over and over. In every iteration, her lucid consciousness seems to twist and fold and pull their last interaction into fractured little nightmares. The way she remembers Stacie’s expression, the way she imagines the loathing in the curl of her lip, the way she presents her love like an ultimatum—by the morning, she’s exhausted and reality feels…fragile. _She_ feels fragile.

She attempts to centre herself now, to reach deep inside for something to hold onto, something to tether her, keep her from losing her mind. But the silence makes it worse. Silence only ever seems to remind her that she’s been unravelling for so long, chasing anchor after anchor, yet all she ever seems to do is flail around in the wind. She can’t remember now if it’s always been this way.

She crawls onto all fours, then plants her hands solidly onto the mat, lifting a straight leg behind her in a steady rhythm. She feels the strain in her thigh after several reps, and she focuses in on it like her life depends on it.

She’s lifting her knees in plank position and working up a sweat when she hears someone come in.

“Hey.”

Aubrey lifts her head, throwing her hair out of her eyes to see Beca come in. Her stomach drops, and she isn’t sure if it’s from relief or disappointment.

“Hey. Where’s Chloe?” She asks. The clock above the door says it’s six-thirty. Beca and Chloe are usually doing laps around the lake by now.

“Sleeping,” Beca says. Aubrey sees her stepping onto treadmill through the mirror as she continues with her Pilates. “I’m heading out tonight for recon—gotta save my energy, so I told her to sleep in.”

Aubrey raises a brow into the mirror, though Beca’s back is to her as she runs, facing the lake. “So…you’re…running?”

“Low-impact,” Beca explains in that curt way that fits her so well. “Better than sitting around and getting restless.”

“Ah.”

Aubrey goes through several more exercises with the quiet whirring of the treadmill to keep her mind occupied. It’s the first time she’s been alone in Beca’s company, and she doesn’t mind not having to go through the small talk and the forced niceties.

While Chloe hasn’t made her attraction to Beca much of a secret since the beginning, Aubrey still doesn’t know what to make of the stoic woman. Beca is pragmatic—a plus, in her book. She’s protective of her best friend—this, Aubrey understands better than anyone. But she doesn’t trust her not to break Chloe’s heart, so she doesn’t completely trust her.

Perhaps she’s wary of Beca because they’re more similar than she can admit. And if Beca treats Chloe the way she treated Stacie—Aubrey swallows at the thought—then she’s already failed her best friend.

“Anastasia,” Beca says suddenly.

Aubrey freezes. She wonders if she imagined the word, because what business would it have coming out of Beca’s mouth?

“Sounds familiar to you, right?”

“What?” She says, slowly crumpling onto the mat into a sitting position as she stares at Beca. “Did you say…Anastasia?”

Beca looks on ahead at the picturesque view of the lake, jogging at a slow, steady speed. “Kinda funny you’re both haunted by the same name,” Beca says thoughtfully. “What are the chances?”

“What are you talking about?” A familiar annoyance rises quickly—the name brings back too many unpleasant feelings.

“Your Russian agent—her name was Anastasia, right?” Beca asks. If she noticed the edge in Aubrey’s voice, she certainly doesn’t show it as she goes on. “Stacie and I were going through intel on you last night to see if there’s anyone hunting for you. There isn’t, but I came across the name, and Stacie explained.”

“Yes,” Aubrey says, narrowing her eyes. “But I only knew her as Anna.”

Beca smiles—it’s barely there, but Aubrey doesn’t miss the mischievous quality to it. “Stacie’s full name is Anastasia. At least according to her grandmother.”

It takes Aubrey a moment to process, because _surely_ the universe has to agree that this kind of joke is simply cruel and distasteful. “ _Excuse me_?”

“Yeah, but don’t call her that. A lot of bad memories associated with that name,” Beca says nonchalantly.

Aubrey scoffs. “She and I both.”

“You have a lot in common.”

“Funny,” Aubrey says with a humourless chuckle, “I was just thinking that about me and you.”

Beca slows down and steps off the treadmill to face Aubrey. “Really?” She says, tilting her head. “Is it the scowling? Sometimes, that’s just how my face is.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of…our aversion to displaying our feelings—other than anger, that is.”

“Oh,” Beca says. She shrugs. “Stace and I have been working on it for years. Jessica and Ashley are good options if you need someone to talk to. Chloe too.” She adds, looking away.

“I’m good, thanks,” Aubrey scoffs.

Beca doesn’t speak for a long, uncomfortable moment. And then two simple words that sends Aubrey’s hackles rising immediately: “Are you?”

“If you have something to say, just say it,” Aubrey says, trying to keep her anger to a minimum with a sigh.

“Are you getting mad at me?” Beca says, looking more amused than anything else.

“No,” Aubrey says, raising both hands. “Not intentionally. I’m just frustrated with…myself, I guess.”

“Why?”

Beca is sitting down on the treadmill now, cradling her cheek in her hand as she studies Aubrey.

Aubrey stretches her legs out on the mat, unsure what to say under Beca’s scrutiny.

“You’re right. I’m not very good at dealing with emotion,” Beca says, finally breaking the silence. “But I know Stacie really cares about you. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way—just…let her know. Stacie and I have been through a lot.” Beca furrows her brows. “What I mean is that she’ll get over you if you want her to. Eventually. Just…the ball is in your court, I guess.”

“Is it?” Aubrey snaps. “Because she’s also the one who said there’s no future with me.” The spike in anger surprises her, as do the words that spill out of her mouth, as if they’d been standing at the edge and waiting to jump.

Beca snorts. “She said that? I don’t blame her, I guess. I think you made it pretty clear yesterday where you stand on your ethics and all.”

“I… that’s two separate issues,” Aubrey says, curling her loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“Not for Stacie. She’s been struggling all her life to see herself as a good person. Then, the person she falls in love with comes along and tells her she has a shitty conscience.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“But it is,” Beca says, fixing her with a piercing stare. “I shot three guys dead when I saved Chloe. Plus Cole’s driver and a sniper. I didn’t think about them as people with families and back stories. They were threats, so… they’re guilty. There’s no benefit of the doubt. The way we see it, guilty and innocent mean…very little when you’re out there doing what you think is right in that very moment. Sometimes it haunts us. Most times it doesn’t. On paper, that makes us monsters. The worst part is, I think, you remind her of her.”

“Who?”

“Anastasia,” Beca say simply.

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” The irony isn’t lost on Aubrey, not when she’d spent so much of yesterday thinking of Stacie and Anna in tandem.

Beca hums. “It’s hard to explain. Anastasia was…an ideal. But the more she chased it, tried to become it, the further she got from herself. It’s the monster inside her—her words, not mine. I don’t know if that makes sense to you in any way. What I mean is that maybe you…and maybe her feelings for you…remind her that all of this, even the ugliest parts—it’s all a part of her. And that…makes it hard to imagine a future with anybody.”

Aubrey runs a hand down her face and blows out a long breath. “Have you ever imagined a future with Chloe?”

Beca’s brows shoot up. She looks ready to deny it, but then her gaze drops, and she smiles, small and almost vulnerable. “I have. Kinda. I try not to look too far ahead.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Maybe. But...”

“Chloe wouldn’t think you’re a monster. If that’s what you’re worried about. I stand by what I said, and I know Chloe does too.”

“I know,” Beca says, pulling up her knee to rest her chin on it. She drags the next words out slowly, kicking and screaming as if she doesn’t want Aubrey to see them. “Just…to me…Chloe…deserves…everything. I…don’t wish this life on anybody, really. Least of all to someone like Chloe. I think…Stacie probably feels the same way.”

Aubrey is still thinking of her reply when they hear a knock on the doorframe. They turn to it and are surprised to find Stacie herself flicking her gaze between them. “Hey,” she says, without much of her usual mirth as she runs her hand through her hair. She hasn’t slept, Aubrey notices immediately. Of course, she hasn’t. “I need to talk to Aubrey.”

Beca jumps up, with more enthusiasm than Aubrey has ever seen her. “Be my guest,” she says. She must be relieved to get away from this conversation, she thinks.

“You’re not supposed to be working out, by the way,” Stacie says as Beca brushes by her.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Go back to bed, dude,” Stacie calls after her. 

Suddenly alone now in the gym, the air seems to shift into something charged and uncomfortable. Aubrey is seldom one to back down from the uncomfortable, but she finds herself envying Beca for getting herself out of the room. Stacie leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Yoga?” She asks.

“Pilates,” Aubrey replies. “What do you want?”

This relaxes Stacie a bit, and she manages a smile. “As blunt as ever. I’m glad,” she says. “I wasn’t sure if what I said last night was going to change things. That’s…actually what I came to confirm.”

Aubrey picks at the mat a little to avoid Stacie’s gaze. “Should it?” She asks quietly.

“I…suppose not,” Stacie replies tentatively. “We still have to work together tonight. We can be civil, right?”

“When have we _ever_ been civil?” Aubrey says with a scoff.

“You’re right,” Stacie says with a resigned chuckle. She hesitates, bites the inside of her cheek. Then, she grins wolfishly—Aubrey sees the extra effort, and she’s grateful for it. It’s as if nothing has changed when she says, “It’s _especially_ hard to be civil when you’re wearing that little racerback of yours. Where on earth did you find something so sinful, Ms. Posen?”

Aubrey flushes crimson, and immediately brings her knees to her chest. Awful as she is, at least annoying Stacie is back.

“You don’t have to hide,” Stacie says with a wink. “You’ve got beautiful shoulders. I can look at them all day.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot,” she mumbles.

“Not your average imbecile,” Stacie corrects.

And she doesn’t hold back her smile when she feels the tension melt away. Stacie laughs, the sound like a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day after the way things ended yesterday. They’re teasing each other again—this is good. They’re leaving the awkwardness behind and wiping the slate clean.

This is good…right?

Aubrey lays down on the mat, long after Stacie has left the room. She ponders the question, and the nature of their temporary relationship. They’ve blindly taken so many steps forward—sitting back in square one doesn’t feel right. It feels like a shoe that fits too tightly, squeezing and chafing until she’s blistered.

Stacie is multi-faceted, sensitive and complex. Though there is comfort in the playfulness, Aubrey yearns to know whether she’d find Anastasia sitting alone in the dark if she looks hard enough. She doesn’t yet know what she would do if she ever finds her, but she isn’t afraid of her.

She isn’t afraid of Stacie—why should she be afraid of Anastasia? The real fear, she thinks as she looks up at the grey ceiling, is diving headlong into Stacie’s world, exposing every layer of vulnerability to another, and coming up short. She feels herself already falling halfway through, but Stacie loves so honestly and so tenderly, and she—in the wake of the destruction her own monstrous Anastasia left behind—can’t possibly give her the same.

“Happiness doesn’t have to be permanent for it to matter,” Stacie’s voice floats through her consciousness. She remembers Stacie saying that with misty eyes that day at the greenhouse, and her skepticism when she realized happiness is metonymic for love. She remembers her own disbelief at the joy radiating from Chloe’s face as she spun Beca around. They’d known each other only three days then. It was hard to believe happiness could come from a place so immediate in these circumstances.

She also remembers Stacie holding her hand that day. They’d known each other for just over twenty-four hours. Even then—did she already know? Had she foreseen her love while simultaneously working to return them to their own lives?

Or was she already in love with her then? If so, then…why? Why does Stacie want so badly to return her to her old life?

Aubrey sits up, rubbing a hand on her forehead when she realizes she’s no closer to figuring out what to do. She knows how she feels—a part of her has known for a while—but doing _anything_ scares her beyond anything else. “She can get over you if you want her to,” Beca’s voice reminds her. “Eventually.”

She doesn’t want her to. Doing nothing isn’t an option either.

There are bigger things to worry about now, she reminds herself with a sigh as she gets up. Maybe she’ll decide after tonight’s mission.

Or maybe she’ll dig herself a hole and never come out of it.

* * *

Beca is sitting cross-legged on her bed with her journal in her lap when her door squeaks open, followed by a quiet knock.

She looks up to see Chloe poking her head through the door. “Hi…” Chloe says, her eyes flitting around the room.

“What are you doing?” Beca questions with a quirk of her brow.

“Sorry, I’m…um, it just kind of hit me that you’re going out there tonight,” Chloe mumbles, leaning the side of her head against the frame. She keeps one hand on the doorknob, her expression conflicted.

Beca props her cheek up with a fist, an amused smirk on her lips. “Yep,” she says.

“It’ll be dangerous, won’t it?” Chloe says quietly.

Beca shrugs. “Never really know how these things go. I mean, Henry was a straightforward job, but here we are.” Chloe flinches at that, and it doesn’t escape Beca’s notice. “It’s…not a bad thing, Chlo…right?”

Chloe musters a small smile. “No, not at all.”

It’s silent for a moment, as they take each other in from across the room. Until something seems to build between them, and Beca feels the self-conscious discomfort begin to sink in. “So…do you want to come in?” She offers with an uneasy smile.

“Oh, yeah,” Chloe mumbles, as if just realizing she’s still lurking by the door. “Sorry. I didn’t…want to interrupt or anything.”

“You’re not,” Beca chuckles and shifts a little in her seat. “Haven’t seen you look so tense in a while.”

Chloe closes the door behind her but continues to awkwardly hang around the threshold. She rubs her arm and keeps her eyes down, her heart beating so loudly she’s sure Beca can hear it, oblivious to the same thought running through Beca’s head in that exact moment.

She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous exactly—she’d come here on a whim when anxious thoughts kept flooding her mind like a broken faucet. And now Beca is watching her with those incredible eyes, and she doesn’t know what to say. Beca probably thinks she’s insane.

Even if, in reality, Beca just thinks she’s beautiful.

“Are you worried about me?” Beca asks quietly.

Chloe holds her eyes and answers with a nod.

Beca gives her a small smile. “No reason to be.”

Chloe grasps at the air for words, but everything comes out breathy and frustrated. “I just…it’s…it’s so dangerous, and I keep thinking the worse. Like, what if you get hurt, Beca? I just…I have a bad feeling.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Beca says, rolling her pen between her fingers. “But it’s just recon, Chlo. It’ll be okay.”

Chloe sucks up her courage then and marches across the room to kneel in front of Beca. She places her hands on her knees and looks straight up into her eyes and through her soul with furrowed brows. “I don’t want you to go,” she says in a way that breaks and tugs and claws.

Beca swallows at the sudden closeness and leans back a little at the way Chloe seems to take over all of her senses at once. “W-where is this coming from?” She manages through her shock.

“I just don’t, Becs. I don’t…I don’t want to lose you.”

Chloe’s blue eyes shimmer, and it’s nearly enough to undo Beca completely. Miraculously, she finds the courage to touch the back of Chloe’s hand with her own. The gesture is slow and tentative, but when Chloe’s gaze darts down and isn’t repulsed, Beca allows herself a step further, and she wraps her fingers around Chloe’s hand.

“You’re not losing me,” she says softly. “But I’m not sitting around waiting for you to get hurt either. Trust me?”

“I do, but…” Chloe sighs and leans forward to kiss Beca’s knuckle. “Just promise me you’ll stay safe, okay?”

Beca blushes. “I will try my best.”

“Promise me. Promise me you’ll finish _Harry Potter_ with me.”

Beca laughs uncomfortably, assuming this was Chloe’s attempt at humour. But her smile slips when Chloe’s expression only hardens.

She sighs.

It’s an impossible request, but the way Chloe looks up at her—it fills her whole world. She feels like she can do anything, like she can give Chloe the sun and the stars. Even if she wants to, she simply can’t deny Chloe anything.

So, before she can stop herself, she whispers, “I promise.”

* * *

Later that night, Beca is perched on a rooftop, across from a large, angular building, painted black on all sides, except for the slanted roof exposing tinted black windows.

The Blackstone Lounge.

This is her last stop for the night on Stacie and Aubrey’s shortlist of locations most likely to house Cole’s new friends. This was Henry’s favourite place to dance. Likely, Stacie informed her in the briefing, if anyone were to dig far enough through the complicated layers of LLCs, they would find this property owned by the Cole family—and it shows. There is something sinister in its appearance alone. It looms tall and wide, all black and dark greys, far more ominous than your average local nightclub—maybe Beca is just biased.

The night so far has been uneventful. She spent most of the night driving around town, listening to Stacie and Aubrey’s back and forths and wondering where Chloe went and why she is so quiet. Other than the latter niggling at her all night, she’s relieved that Stacie and Aubrey seem to have made up as best they could. Given how much they enjoy pushing each other’s buttons, it’s surprising to see how well they work together.

It would be good to have someone help Stacie out in the future, Beca thinks idly. Give her time to sleep a little more.

“Baby Koala, this is Aphrodite—come in.”

Beca cringes a little when Stacie shoulders through her thoughts like a raging bull on the loose. “Why am I a dumb bear while you’re a goddamn Greek _goddess_?” she grumbles eventually.

“Obviously, because you think a koala is a bear, and I’m awesome in—ow, why’d you hit me?” Stacie whines through her earpiece.

“Thank you, Aubrey,” Beca says flatly.

“No problem,” Aubrey’s voice comes in. “According to the blueprint we found, you’re in position to look into the main lounge area.”

“I’m not picking up any bad vibes around you, so you should be—”

“Be careful, Beca,” Chloe interrupts. It’s the first time she’s spoken all night, and Beca can’t help but smile. There’s a warm feeling stemming from the pit of her stomach when she hears the concern in her voice. There’s a cold one too—a twinge of guilt—and she can’t wait to go home after this.

“Right,” Stacie says. “If the triad really did take over the club, then our big fish is likely going to be this guy—Eddie Choi.” Stacie shoots a photo of a handsome Asian man in his mid-30s onto Beca’s lens. “Born in Baltimore but hasn’t set foot anywhere near the US in about a decade. His record here is clean, but he’s got a sizeable stake in Hong Kong. Money laundering, gambling, prostitution, and a bit of human trafficking on the side. He made his way up the ladder, just high enough to feel invincible, therefore highly dangerous. Created some kind of a schism in the family and had to flee. Probably a bit of a loose cannon, if you ask me. If you see him, then we’re on the right track.”

“Gotcha,” Beca says, settling into her spot on the roof and pulling up the x-ray. It cuts through the side of the building, giving her a full view of the lounge. She hasn’t done this since the day they found Chloe, and she thinks back to that particular party now—a different crowd then but the same purpose. It feels like years ago now. It feels simpler almost—less at stake.

She zooms in to take a closer look at the dance floor, and her stomach immediately takes a deep dive.

“Holy shit.”

“A-are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?” Beca says, her hands trembling a little against the frame of her glasses.

Even Aubrey’s voice sounds shaky. “I wish I wasn’t,” she says in shock. “Chloe.” Her voice moves away, faintly audible in the distance. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here for this.”

“I…I’m fine,” Chloe replies.

But Beca isn’t. She clenches her fists as she takes in a full view of the room. Inside the club, moving among and around the patrons dancing, drinking, and laughing, were droves of redheaded women, each of varying heights and skin colour but similar frame. They’re carrying platters of drinks, they’re dancing on the stage, they’re huddled up to their patrons, and most disturbing of all, they’re all wearing identical uniforms of sapphire blue cocktail dresses and blood-red chokers.

“This _has_ to be a trap,” Stacie says, furious as her voice crackles through the earpiece. “How—I mean, how is it even possible to find so many women who look like Chloe? And—and that choker is just—it’s fucking distasteful.”

“Wigs,” Beca replies, scanning through several faces. “And coloured contacts—similar builds and different heights, but they’re just made to look similar.”

“He must’ve known we’d find them here,” Aubrey says steadily. “I’m with Stacie on this one—definitely a trap.”

Everything would’ve been fine if Beca left it at that. If she hadn’t swept the main lounge, then zoomed into a nondescript grey door off the side of the room. Beyond that door, unknown to everyone who pass by it several times a night, is a single body tied up to a chair, slumped over and on the brink of death. She, too, is wearing the uniform.

“Oh god,” Stacie groans. “It gets worse. She looks like she’s in bad shape.”

“There’s some slight bruising. No major damage, but—Stacie, get closer—yeah, mouth looks dry. Likely dehydrated,” Aubrey says. “She’s been here for a while. A couple of days at least is my best guess.”

“How did they know we were coming?” Beca asks.

Stacie curses once more. “There’s only two options: either we’re compromised, or this has been going on for a while. Judging by the girl’s state, I’m gonna go with the latter.”

“Yes,” Aubrey says quietly. There’s a moment of quiet on the other end, filled with unspoken conversation that Beca simply has no time for.

“The girl will know,” she declares. “I’m going to get down there.”

“Beca, what part of _trap_ do you not understand?” Stacie groans. It’s useless, she knows, once Beca makes up her mind, but she hopes she’s wrong anyway.

“I can’t just _leave_ her there, Stace.”

“Like Beca said, she might also have valuable information,” Aubrey says calmly.

Stacie starts to protest, but Beca’s glasses are already off. There’s a loud rustling sound coming through Stacie’s speakers, then nothing for several, long nerve-wracking seconds.

“Back.”

“Dude, you can’t just disappear like that!” Stacie cries.

“Sorry, had to take off my shirt and vest. I’m wearing a tank top. Not a huge improvement, but hopefully, I can blend in at the party,” Beca mumbles.

“You _can’t_ go in there, Becs,” Chloe’s voice explodes through the earpiece. “You promised!”

“I’m sorry, Chlo,” Beca sighs. It breaks her heart to hear the strain in Chloe’s voice, but she can’t just abandon the girl. She probably won’t last the night. She doesn’t know what more she can say.

“If you’re hell bent on saving everybody,” Stacie says, the quiet frustration loud and clear to Beca’s trained ear. “I put a dress in the car. I was hoping you wouldn’t have wear it.”

“Chloe, wait,” Aubrey’s voice says in the background. There’s a muffled noise, then silence.

“She ran off,” Stacie reports. “She’ll be fine—we’ll take care of her. You better take care of yourself while you’re in there.”

Beca blows out a breath. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get the drone ready too. Just in case. Stay put until I bring it over.”

“Yeah,” she sighs.

* * *

“Chloe, slow down,” Aubrey says, quickening her steps to grab her hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

They just make it to the staircase when Chloe covers her eyes. Her shoulders shake with heavy breaths. It takes Aubrey a moment to realize she isn’t crying, as she’d assumed when Chloe suddenly took off—no, she is _furious_.

“I just…I can’t _believe_ her,” Chloe says. There’s a strangled quality to her voice, where the anger settled, snaking its long, ugly arms around her throat. “I—this is going to get her _killed_ , and—and I told her—all I asked is for her to stay safe. So—so what the _hell_ is she thinking?”

Aubrey is taken aback. “You _saw_ that girl, Chlo. We all saw the same thing, right? Why are you so upset?”

“Because!” Chloe raises her voice. “Beca is jumping headfirst into a _very_ obvious trap, and you’re all just like, ‘cool, see you later’—” Chloe throws up her hands. Her face is red when she cuts herself off with a frustrated groan. “Why does it have to be her?” She says, dropping down to a near whisper as she sits on the first step of the stairs with an utterly defeated expression in her face. “Couldn’t we have, like called the police?”

“I hate to admit it,” Aubrey sighs, “but with an operation like this, I don’t think the police will get to her in time. Not without alarming everyone inside…meaning, it could get a lot uglier.”

“I know…deep down…that you’re right,” Chloe says, releasing a breath into the palms of her hands. “I just… can’t help what I’m feeling, Bree. It’s so…much. It’s just so _much_. What an I going to do if she gets hurt…or worse?” She drops her hands and sinks down, hugging her knees for minimal comfort. “I like her so much that I don’t even know what to do with myself sometimes,” she whispers, staring off into the wall in front. “I know what you’re going to say—it’s been, like, two weeks, but…I can’t help it. I want to be a part of her future. Like, so much. And—and I never even got to tell her! I just…I don’t know what to do. And—and I’m…just so…mad. And sad. And…ugh, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.”

Chloe doesn’t move when she feels a warm arm slide across her shoulders. Aubrey tugs her closer, pulling her up into a warm embrace. Chloe tucks her head below Aubrey’s chin, and she sniffles a little.

“What can I do to help, Chlo?”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Just…stay here and distract me for a bit because if I keep thinking about Beca, I might actually explode.”

“Well, um…Stacie told me last night she’s in love with me,” Aubrey says, quietly rubbing her hand along Chloe’s upper arm.

This pushes a breathy laugh out of Chloe. “She’s never been subtle about that.”

Aubrey scrunches her nose. “I don’t know if it’s _that_ obvious.”

Chloe snorts this time, and Aubrey is immediately on the defence when she says, “Bree, you’re my best friend and I love you, but believe me when I say that you could literally see her boner for you from space. There are probably documentaries being made about it as we speak.”

“W-well, maybe I didn’t want to see it right away. It just…doesn’t make sense,” Aubrey says, blushing furiously.

“Maybe some things aren’t meant to make sense… but it doesn’t mean we want it any less,” Chloe says, running a hand over her face. “God, I know how she feels.” Then, Chloe pulls away, the fury burning brightly when she levels a serious look at Aubrey. Before she even speaks, Aubrey feels the sting of the coming reprimand. “I think you like her too, Bree. You just need to stop assuming everyone inevitably turns out to be a Russian bitch from hell. I mean, she’s in the next room. There’s literally nothing stopping you except yourself.” She mutters the last part with spite Aubrey knows isn’t directed at her. “You’re lucky.”

Aubrey knows it isn’t directed at her, but it hurts anyway to hear the exasperation in Chloe’s tone. She doesn’t respond.

Finally, Chloe speaks again, gentler this time. “I’m sorry, I’m…I don’t mean to take it out on you.” She musters a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I know…what happened with Anna doesn’t make things easier. But…what would you do if Stacie was out there instead of Beca?”

Aubrey frowns. She’s been so caught up in the past and present, she hadn’t even considered the possibility that the universe would rob her of a future. It’s ironic to think how tightly she held onto her control when her life had spun out years ago—the day Anna took everything from her. Perhaps even before then. Since that day, it’s been illusion after illusion, with blind faith in the fact that the universe had done enough damage and would allow her, finally, to take control over her own destiny.

Watching Stacie die before her eyes isn’t a part of her plan.

When she doesn’t reply, Chloe sighs. “That’s what I thought,” she whispers. “Look, you should go back in there and keep Stacie company. I…will join you a little later. I think I…just need to breathe on my own for a little bit.”

Aubrey nods, stepping in for one more hug before she turns to go.

“And Bree?” Chloe says as she’s walking away. “Just give her the benefit of the doubt, okay? While you can.”

“I’ll…I’ll try, Chlo. And Beca…”

“Will be fine. I know,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “At least, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.”

* * *

Beca looks around the Blackstone Lounge, and takes a moment to calm her heart and take in the elegance of the vaulted ceilings and copper-coloured walls. The accents and the furniture are all black, with exposed beams and supports to further accentuate the expensive, upscale vibe. She tried not to look at the waitresses, the far too many Chloes milling around the room.

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose—she can’t speak in a room full of strangers, but Stacie understands. “Yeah, I’m seeing this,” she says into Beca’s ear. “It’s creepy as fuck.”

As she slowly makes her way toward the door, one of the Chloes stop in front of her with a small tray of drinks. She’s _far_ shorter than Chloe, her nose a little softer, and her eyes too—they’re eerily blue in the dim lighting, and it takes a second to confirm they’re coloured contacts. Still, it’s unsettling. She looks just enough like Chloe, even if she isn’t.

“Hey, cutie,” the woman says with a coy, Hollywood starlet kind of smile. She holds up her tray. “Care for a drink?”

“ _Don’t_ drink anything,” comes a voice in her earpiece. It’s the real Chloe. She definitely sounds angrier than earlier, and it makes her swallow.

“I’m good, thanks,” Beca mumbles in response.

“Aw, really? I get it—drinking alone is no fun. You wanna come meet my friends?” Her free hand goes to Beca’s shoulder and down her arm, playing with her hair on the way. “You’re really pretty—you must get that a lot, don’t you?”

Beca’s earpiece crackles when someone yelps. “Chloe, stop!” Aubrey yells in the background.

“I’m going to kill her!” Chloe yells back. Beca flinches a little when something bumps into the microphone.

“Are you alright?” The woman is still standing there, watching her. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” She says, giggling like she’d told a joke. She steps a little closer, and that’s enough for Beca to finally duck out of her touch. She mumbles her apologies and heads into a crowd to escape the woman—from awkward socialization to large groups of people, she flings herself out of the frying pan and into the fire. From behind a particularly tall man swaying conservatively to the booming music, she peeks back at the Chloe from before, but she’s gone.

A sinking feeling hits her.

“This might be bad, Beca,” Stacie says gravely. Yes, she knows. “They might know you’re here.”

Fuck.

“I’m pulling up the blueprints—you better hurry before they zero in. Head to the bathroom—be as normal as possible and do _not_ draw the attention of any evil Chloes.”

Beca weaves through the dance floor as fast as she can, and easily finds the bathroom. It’s hard to miss the long line-up.

“Plan B,” Stacie says, without missing a beat. “There’s a corridor to your right with a fire exit at the end. Keep this in mind. There should be a door to your left—supply closet. Get in there.”

Beca jiggles the doorknob—locked.

“Fuck,” Stacie breathes. “Okay, um, that corridor I just mentioned? Head down there and see if you can get into the second door on the right. These are probably VIP rooms, Becs, so be careful.”

Beca walks down the corridor as fast as she can, keeping a wary eye on the couple making out further down. It’s a man pressed up against a Chloe, who has her arms around his neck, thoroughly enjoying the attention. Christ—she needs to get out of here before this place completely destroys her emotionally.

“Don’t worry, Beca, he’s not _our_ Chloe’s type.” It’s Aubrey who speaks, and there’s an amusement to her voice that makes Beca blush. Had she been gawking?

The door ahead is closed, and Beca hurries her last step toward it. One last glance at the couple tells her she’s the last thing on their minds right now, so she tries the knob slowly. It doesn’t resist. She leans against the door, pulling up her dress to access the gun strapped to her thigh, just in case. It’s eerily quiet on the other side. She doesn’t trust it.

“I disabled primary functions on your glasses, Beca,” Stacie says as she’s wondering whether she could look through the door with the x-ray function. “Only auxiliary right now, otherwise the lens will turn blue and it’ll give you away. Note to self—create a separate pair of glasses for undercover missions,” she adds the last part quietly.

Beca looks over her shoulder, where she sees a clone at the end of the hall. She’s heading this way and to make matters worse, she looks a lot like the one who offered her a drink. The Chloe making out in the corner is also watching her now. It all feels wrong. She turns the doorknob and opens it a crack. A low light fills the room as soon as the door opens. With a wildly beating heart, she pushes through.

“It’s clear,” Beca whispers under her breath. There’s not much in here except for a long, cushy sofa, ensconced wall lamps, and a coffee table. She immediately grabs one end of the sofa to barricade the door.

“Good. There’s a vent in the corner that connects to the girl’s room.”

“Yeah, this feels…bad,” Beca murmurs. She drops the sofa with a grunt, then gets to work pushing the coffee table up against the wall below the vent. “It’s almost too easy, and I feel like I’m being watched.”

“It’s more than plausible,” Aubrey says. “Cole’s network runs deep, and if he has international connections, he’s likely borrowing resources from other unsavoury operations as well.”

“Yeah, the sooner I get out of here the better,” Beca says, pulling the vent cover down. “This place makes my skin crawl.”

“I’ve been trying to hack into the security cameras, but I’m not having much luck. If there are cameras, the security is way too tight for your average club. You better be careful,” Stacie says.

Beca flashes a thumbs up for Stacie to see before heaving herself up into the vent. It’s a straightforward system, and Stacie guides her easily to the prisoner’s room. She looks around through the slats of the vent first—it’s an empty room, all grey walls and exposed concrete flooring. No cameras from where she can see. From her position, she can only see the back of the girl’s head—red hair, like all the other Chloe clones—but she still isn’t moving.

“Only one exit,” Stacie informs. Beca sees it—a single door. “It goes out to a short corridor—it’s a dead end, but you should be able to loop back to the VIP corridor exit.”

“That means if this is a trap, there might be people waiting on the other side of that door,” Aubrey adds. “People you’ll have to fight through. Are you sure about this, Beca?”

Beca shakes her head. But what choice does she have? She’s certain she felt the eyes of those Chloe-clones in the hallway, which means they know she’s here. She has one gun, six bullets, and a knife—her chances of survival aren’t zero.

“Restoring primary functions—two men outside with a possible third. Worse case, the men come charging in with guns blazing, you grab the girl and take the chair and head to this wall here.” Stacie projects a simulation of her plan to Beca’s lens. A 2D map this time, containing several differently coloured circles to indicate the key players. “Typically, when one enters a room, they’ll look this way,” she goes on. A circle enters the door marked on the map, and two dotted lines protrude out from it to show the circle’s field of vision. “You’ll buy yourself a couple seconds if you hide here. Try to save your bullets. You can break off the chair on the first guy and use a leg as a weapon, or you can stick to the knife. Lots of possibilities.”

Stacie’s voice is tight this time, and there’s none of the typical jokes and playful nicknames. She’s worried. She has every right to be when even her own heart is pounding so hard. It’s been a long time since she’s gotten into a tight situation like this. But she has to keep going. Has to save this girl.

Has to keep her promise to Chloe.

“No luck on the cameras still—I’m…I’m sorry,” Stacie sighs heavily.

“It’ll be okay,” Beca whispers finally. “I’ll get out.”

“You fucking better.”

Now or never, Beca thinks, sucking in a deep breath as she removes the vent cover. She waits—the muffled music in the distance hasn’t changed. Quickly and quietly, she lowers herself into the room. The dress itches a little, but she’s glad it’s flexible enough to move in.

She kneels down by the girl, checks her eyes and takes her pulse. “Alive,” she whispers.

“Dehydration, like Aubrey said,” Stacie confirms. “She might have also been drugged.”

Beca shakes her by the shoulders, and the girl quietly moans.

“Slight bruising on her face and neck,” Aubrey confirms. “It doesn’t look too serious.”

Beca’s heart feels tight in her chest at the sight of the girl, dressed like Chloe to boot, tied up in this state. She cuts the rope and pulls off the wig. Oh, good—a brunette. She looks young, no older than her early twenties. But Beca breathes a little easier when she looks nothing at all like Chloe.

“Hey, can you hear me?” She says quietly, giving the girl a light slap on the cheek. The girl doesn’t respond. She’s out, Beca thinks, but the pounding of footsteps in the corridor doesn’t give her time to dwell.

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” she says, pulling the girl up to drape her over her shoulders. It’s awkward—the girl is as tall as Stacie, if not more so, and Beca struggles with the difference, but makes up for it in strength. She drags the chair to the wall, as Stacie suggested, and waits, breathing heavily. “Aubrey, get Chloe out of the room,” she says as calmly as she can. “She shouldn’t have to watch this.”

A beat of silence. Footsteps closing in.

“Sure,” Aubrey says.

“Thanks.”

With the girl on her left shoulder, handling the chair with both hands is clumsy. When the door swings open, and several men come rushing in, she grips the chair in her dominant hand, and smashes it into the first body in her proximity. As soon as the chair clatters to the ground and the man is curled up on the floor, she grabs the knife and darts toward the two others before they could turn and fire. The knife catches the back of the knee of the second man, then stabs deep into the shoulder blade of the third. The screams are loud, but her adrenaline is pumping and she can’t hear a thing.

There are more coming. She swings around, gives the first man a swift kick in the balls for good measure, and sees numbers four, five, and six in the hallway—all hulking men in black shirts and black pants, all shouting nonsense and pointing guns and shooting them poorly. She ducks back into the cell to avoid the spray of bullets.

“Submachine guns,” Stacie shouts over the noise. “MP5—thirty rounds. Fucking overkill.”

“I could…grab a meat shield,” Beca says breathing heavily now.

“Not with these guns. You’ll definitely get hurt. Stay at the door, see if they come in.”

They don’t. They don’t need to.

Beca closes her eyes. She sheaths her knife and takes her gun. Their guns are bigger and faster, but _she_ is a better shot. She ducks out and in to get a glimpse of the men. A wave of bullets follow. She takes a deep breath as she leans against the wall, adjusts her grip on the girl.

She heads out again, takes her shot, and hears the scream of death, followed by the storm of bullets. They’re closer now—angry. One down, two to go. She peeks out, just enough, to take a second shot, and just before she ducks back in, she sees the number five fall in her peripheral.

One more.

Her blood is pumping—her confidence soars. She charges out with a battle cry this time, and shoots the last one dead centre of his forehead. At the same time, a searing pain rips through her when she catches two stray bullets in the shoulder with a cry.

“Beca!” She hears Stacie shout.

“I’m fine,” she grinds out, shifting the girl on her good shoulder. She doesn’t touch the wound, tries to banish all thoughts of it from her head. But she’s losing blood fast, and she can feel it seeping through the fabric of her dress. As she trudges along the long, corpse-laden hallway, and feels her strength start to drain. She’s lightheaded. The girl gets heavier by the second.

But she can’t stop.

She promised Chloe.

“—stay with me!” It’s Stacie—she sounds very far away as she leans her weight against the cool wall. “Stay awake, Beca. You have to keep going. You’re almost there!”

Beca winces when the pain starts to bleed into her consciousness. By the time she’s in the VIP room corridor, her adrenaline starts to wear off. There are shouts, more footsteps, voices screaming, but somehow, she pushes on through the fire exit and into the fresh air.

“Not so fast.” Beca grinds her teeth down to try and ignore the pain. She doesn’t bother to turn around—she already knows how these usually go down, and her fingers tighten around the grip of her gun.

Eddie Choi—the big fish finally came to feed.

“That’s one of my girls you got there,” Eddie says. She can hear the smile in his voice. Oh good, she thinks, another smug bastard.

“Drone’s coming around—don’t make any sudden movements, Bec. You’re surrounded. At least ten people, including Eddie Choi.”

Figures.

“Put the girl down,” Eddie says, “or I’ll kill her and you can watch.”

Beca doesn’t move. “What do you want?”

“It’s simple. Power and money, and the woman who will bring me both,” Eddie chuckles. “Hand over your pretty redhead, and you can go.”

“What makes you think—”

Suddenly, a bright blast of white and red booms from behind her with such force that she’s sent flying to the ground.

Everything is black.

Her ears ring.

When light blooms back into her consciousness, her wound screams out at her, and she hisses in pain.

Stacie’s face flashes behind her eyes, followed by Chloe’s. Wake up, she tells herself. You’re not done.

You have a promise to keep.

Her eyelids flutter open, and all she hears is white noise still when she cranes her neck to look behind her. “Oh my god,” she whispers under her breath. Thirty feet behind her, an _inferno_ is sweeping the side of the building, eating up the black walls and consuming every inch as it grows bigger and bigger. Eddie and his men are on the ground—she can’t see what happened to them, but she’ll assume the same that happened to her. Wherever the blast came from, it must’ve hit them hard.

The girl—she’s laying face-down on the street only several feet away.

With great effort, she pushes herself up, screaming when the pain cuts deep, though she barely hears it through the high-pitched squeal in her ear. Her glasses lay several feet away, with one lens cracked through the middle. She picks it up and sees something moves in her peripheral—more shouting men. She cranes her neck.

The red and orange glow wash over her while a column of black spill out into the sky. Fire everywhere.

She has to get out of here.

She takes a deep breath and summons the strength she needs to pull the girl off the street. Finally, half dragging, half carrying her, she takes off toward the car.

* * *

Beca is sweating. She’s only been driving for half an hour, but it feels like lifetimes. The makeshift bandage she made with a strip of her dress is soaked through. And god, she’s exhausted.

The car serves as she momentarily slips out of consciousness for a moment, but it jostles her awake.

“Hold on, Beca, don’t fall asleep on us now,” Stacie says. It would seem like she’s reading her thoughts, had Stacie not said the exact same thing at least twenty-five times already. “You’re almost there—you’re coming home.”

“Everything fucking hurts, Stace. My head is still ringing from that random explosion, and I feel like I’m about to bleed out any second now.”

“Beca, please hold on a little longer. You… you promised.” Beca straightens—she didn’t expect Chloe.

“Chloe? Why…why are you here?”

Her stomach drops—she never left.

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey says quietly. “She refused to go.”

She saw everything. She watched her injure and kill and nearly die—what must she think of her now? Ruthless, cold-blooded, yet incredibly weak? Beca swallows—she really didn’t want her to see this.

“I…”

She doesn’t know what to say, really, and fortunately doesn’t have to when the girl in the passenger seat suddenly stirs.

“Where…am I?” she mumbles. “Ow…my head.”

This car doesn’t have the fancy screen, and Beca cringes when she realizes she will have to talk to the girl herself. The night just keeps getting better, she thinks miserably.

“You’re safe,” is all that Beca says. She keeps her eyes on the road. She doesn’t have enough energy to do anything else if she wants to get them home, and she did _not_ escape a bunch of gangsters and an explosion just to die in a car accident. Luckily, the roads are empty at four in the morning. “There’s water in the cup holder. You’ll need it.”

“Oh gosh, thank you.” She hears the jostle of plastic, and the crack of the lid being twisted open. Above all, she hears the girl say “gosh” and she wonders if it’s her delirium setting in.

“Ask her who she is and why she’s there,” Aubrey says.

Beca curses softly. She can’t think. She can barely keep her eyes open when she’s putting every ounce of energy she has into _not passing out_. And now she wants her to _talk_ to this random girl?

Thankfully, she hears Stacie shush her gently. “Give her some time. Driving is already a lot,” Stacie says. Closer to the microphone, Stacie tells Beca, “I don’t care what you do or say—you better get your ass back here in one piece. I’m gonna mute us so you can focus. We’re here, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Beca sighs.

“Are you talking to me?” The girl says, between desperate swigs of water.

“No.”

“Oh…okay. So, um, who—ohmygosh, you’re _bleeding_!”

“Yep.”

“Um, can I do anything to…” The girl gestures erratically, and it takes all of Beca’s concentration to keep her hands on the wheel steady and her eyes on the road and not kill them both.

“Calm down,” Beca says through gritted teeth. “I need…I need to get us to safety. You have to keep talking, so I can stay awake, but you have to calm down. I didn’t rescue you just to kill us both by passing out at the wheel.”

“Rescue me?” The girl says incredulously. “But I’m nobody. Why would I need rescuing? Oh…oh my gosh, what happened to me?” As the panic escalates, the girl’s voice gets higher and higher in pitch.

“ _Calm,_ ” Beca says firmly. “Unless you really wanna die today.”

She frantically nods, taking several quick breaths to follow suit. When that didn’t seem to work, she bends over and squeezes her head between her knees.

Beca winces as she tears her eyes from the road for a millisecond to look over at the passenger seat. “What the hell—”

“Sorry, I’m—I’m trying not to freak out,” the girl says to her feet. “I…can’t seem to remember anything, and I don’t know who you are, and—where are we? Where are we _going_? Am I ever going to see Benji again? Ahh—calm—stay calm, Em, you are not going to die today. Everything is fine. Cool. Good. This is all a dream. Yep, just a good ol’ nightmare.” As if the raving wasn’t enough, the girl then breaks into whispered fragments of a song Beca thinks is “Sweet Dreams”.

She rolls her eyes skyward. Please, mysterious forces of the universe, have mercy.

“Em—is that your name?”

The girl lifts her head slowly, and nods. “Emily.”

“Right—what is the last thing you remember?”

“Everything’s a little fuzzy,” she admits quietly. Her voice is a little scratchy, as if at any second she is going to burst into tears, but she clears her throat and soldiers on. “Yesterday was…Tuesday, so I woke up at six, went for a little run, then I went to class…after that, I went to work. Oh, um, I think we had a staff meeting and we got free drinks, and now…I’m here…and everything hurts a little bit…and, and…I don’t know what or why _anything_ is happening.”

“Yesterday was Thursday,” Beca says with a frown.

“Wha—oh, no, no, no, no. I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. You thought you said yesterday was Thursday.”

“That’s what I said.”

Silence.

Beca looks over at the girl, her skin is pale with horror. She looks almost like a corpse in her silence, and Beca can’t decide which version of freaking out is worse. “You alright?”

Emily let’s out a groan that draws into some kind of high-pitched squeak.

“Emily,” Beca says. By now, she’s covered in cold sweat and completely devoid of colour. Even the slightest movement feels like being sawed in half. And yet here she is, trying to talk this girl down from some mental ledge. “You need to stop.” The plea comes out in agonizingly taxing puffs, and finally, it’s enough to draw the girl’s attention.

“S-sorry,” Emily whispers. “Oh gosh, you—you really shouldn’t be driving. Or speaking. Oh stars, there is so much blood.” She mumbles the last sentence to herself, as if just realizing all over again that Beca is injured. “Maybe—maybe I should drive?”

“Beca, she makes a good point.” Stacie’s back. “Give her the earpiece and go lay down. Apply pressure to your wounds.”

“I…can’t,” Beca replies.

“You’re still an hour and a half away, you idiot! Let the girl drive!”

Beca glances over at Emily. Because Stacie almost never gets that mad at her, and because _goddammit_ everything hurts, she pulls up to the side of the highway and pulls out her earpiece. “You drive,” she tells Emily. “Put this in and listen to everything Stacie tells you if you want to live. If you…if you try anything…I can still kill you.” The threat feels empty, however, when the girl has to come around and help her out of the car. Gingerly, she lays her head back against the passenger seat and watches Emily fumble with the earpiece.

“H-hello?” Emily says, yelping when she gets a response.

At least she looks sufficiently terrified when she pulls back onto the main road. Beca relaxes her hand on the hilt of the knife strapped against her leg, and presses it instead against the makeshift bandage she made out of her dress. She’s lost a lot of blood, but at least the bleeding stopped. Mostly.

With a quiet sigh, she closes her eyes and thinks of Chloe in the library, standing over the record player with a beautiful smile. “Light of the Clear Blue Morning” is playing, and she wants more than anything than to walk toward Chloe and the spark of light in her beautiful blue eyes and ask her to dance. Beca has never danced before, but as she floats in and out of consciousness now, the chance to dance with Chloe feels the only thing she’s ever wanted in this world.

She pictures her hand in Chloe’s, the slight musty scent of the library on Chloe’s hair.

Everything’s going to be all right, Chloe would softly sing as she holds her closely. It’s gonna be okay.

* * *

Chloe’s heart rate kicks up several notches when they hear the sound of the car slowly coming in. She reins in her instinct to run out and stands out of the way by the stairs instead. Stacie had told her explicitly to stand here, and though it wasn’t ideal, Stacie’s bloodshot eyes looked ready to murder everyone in this house if anyone got between her and Beca. This, she understands more than anyone. It isn’t like she can do much to help.

The last time she stood at these stairs, she was so afraid for her own life. Never could she have expected fearing for Beca’s life to be so much worse. Her throat feels tight.

Stacie leaps up from the stairs where she’s sitting with Aubrey, who has been trying her best to comfort her with tentative back rubs, and runs to the door. Aubrey catches Chloe’s eyes, and Chloe recognizes that helpless expression like it’s her own. They don’t speak. Aubrey instead tips her head toward the door.

Chloe shakes her head as she hugs herself closer. The morning light is full and bright as it streams through the open door. It’s almost unfair how beautiful it is. Once Aubrey leaves, Chloe takes several deep breaths to control the discomfort in her midsection.

“It’s been a long, dark night,” she sings quietly to herself as she shifts her weight nervously to her other foot, “and I’ve been waiting for the morning. It’s been a long, hard fight, but I see a brand-new day a-dawning.”

She doesn’t, as the long seconds tick by, but she wants badly to believe what Dolly believes.

The car door slams, and slowly she edges closer. “‘Cause I can see the light of the clear blue morning,” she whispers to herself rather unconvincingly. “I can see the light of a brand-new day.”

Stacie soon comes into view, making her way to the door with Beca curled in both arms. She can’t see her face yet, but Stacie’s is grim.

“Everything’s gonna be alright…it’s gonna be okay.” Chloe sings the last part of the chorus desperately, hiding it under her breath as Stacie draws closer. Her face softens when she sees Chloe.

“She’ll be alright,” Stacie whispers as she passes. Chloe isn’t sure if she means to comfort her or herself. It’s even more unclear when she catches a glimpse of Beca—she’s pale, her skin dotted with perspiration. With her eyes closed and her lips parted, she looks almost porcelain, and it makes her heart drop.

She clutches her own hand helplessly as she watches Stacie walk away. She can’t even begin to imagine the pain, and for a split second, she almost sympathizes with George Cole. Then she remembers that he’s the one responsible for hurting Beca, and she wants to run out into the world and kill everyone he has ever loved. Instead, she clutches her elbow and tries to think of anything at all to distract herself from Beca’s pale face.

She’s halfway through a second meditation of “Light of the Clear Blue Morning” when Aubrey walks through the door, followed by the girl Beca risked her life to rescue. She’s looking around, marvelling like she’s a _goddamn tourist_. And Chloe prickles because Beca clearly saw something in her—deemed her worthy of trading her life for—and here she was, standing around with the _audacity_ to look like a fifth-grader on a field trip.

The girl catches her glare and gives her an uneasy smile.

Chloe starts, because she swears to anybody listening in the high heavens that if this girl says _hi_ or any other trite greeting, she’s going to beat the hell out of her.

Suddenly, Aubrey is in front of her, her forearm pressed against her collarbone, and Chloe stares blankly at her—she didn’t realize she’d even moved. “Chloe, calm down,” Aubrey says with a frown. “Beca is going to be okay—her wounds aren’t fatal, and you are _not_ going to take _anything_ out on Emily here.”

Chloe furrows her brows. “I’m not—I wasn’t—” Aubrey’s piercing gaze pins her in place and shuts up whatever nonsense was going to come out. Chloe isn’t a violent person, but none of these awful feelings make her feel like herself. “Sorry,” she mumbles, running her hand through her hair in frustration.

Aubrey relaxes, lowering her arm slowly to give her a small smile. “It’s fine, Chlo. It’s been a crazy night. Stacie’s going to get the bullets out and get her bandaged up, and then you can go see her. Everything will be okay…okay?”

Chloe nods. She feels like a child, reprimanded for a tantrum they can’t control. But at least Aubrey’s reassurance makes it a little easier to breathe.

“I’m… I’m sorry about all this,” the girl says nervously, hiding a little behind Aubrey.

Chloe glares. “You better not be working for Cole.”

The girl shakes her head vigorously. “I’m not—I swear! I-I don’t even know who that is!”

“We’ll properly vet her later after we check her injuries and put some food in her,” Aubrey says. “Everyone’s exhausted.”

“What—what does that mean?” The girl squeaks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aubrey says, yawning as she starts heading toward the kitchen. “For now, let’s get you something to eat. We can talk then.” Aubrey turns to Chloe. “Come with us, or you’re just going to drive yourself up a wall thinking about Beca.”

Chloe sighs. “Fine.”

* * *

Chloe is a mess, Aubrey observes from across the table. She’s watching the newcomer eat her soup like she wants to throttle her for it, and that’s just not like her. She’s just worried, Aubrey thinks, her heart clenching for her best friend, and she doesn’t know where to put any of her feelings right now.

This girl—Emily—is the perfect scapegoat.

“You should probably slow down before you choke,” Aubrey chides Emily gently. The girl slowly lowers her bowl with an embarrassed flush.

“Sorry,” she says with a sheepish look on her face. “I didn’t even realize I was so hungry.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know,” Emily replies. “I mean, I don’t remember much after going to work on Tuesday.”

“You work at the Blackstone?” Chloe asks quietly.

Emily swallows a bit, her eyes flickering from Chloe to Aubrey. “Yeah, um, I’m a bartender there, but I’m…pretty new. Two weeks-ish. We got those weird uniforms with the wigs on my second day, and it’s…”

“Fucked up,” Chloe mutters.

“That’s an understatement,” Aubrey supplies as she dips her spoon into her own bowl of soup. “Are you aware that your so-called uniforms are made to have all of you look exactly like Chloe here?”

Emily stops eating and tentatively looks over at Chloe. She darts her gaze back to her bowl when Chloe glares back. Aubrey never thought she’d ever see the day when Chloe is the scary one between them, but something about Emily is riling her up like nothing else she’s ever seen. Despite the circumstances, she has to admit it’s a little refreshing. Especially when Emily looks back at her like _she’s_ the safe space as she shakes her head.

“You don’t have blue eyes, do you? The exact shade as Chloe’s over there?”

Emily shakes her head. “I need to take these awful contacts out,” she says, grimacing like she’s just realized the discomfort after all this time. Aubrey doesn’t blame her—she’s been through more trouble than a pair of contacts is worth. “Um, may I be excused?”

“Hold on,” Aubrey says, touching Emily’s elbow. “Are your eyes itchy in any way? Do they feel any different?”

Emily shakes her head once more. “No, I just…want to stop wearing them.”

“Okay then. There’s a bathroom down the hall. Don’t wander.”

“I won’t.”

Once Emily is out of sight, Chloe squints at Aubrey. “Is it a good idea to just let her wander around on her own?” She asks.

“She said she wouldn’t wander,” Aubrey replies with a shrug. “She’s not really my priority right now—I don’t think she’s a bad kid, anyway. I’m more worried about _you_. Are you okay?” She reaches across the table to hold Chloe’s hand. It’s little comfort, she knows, but she hopes it’s better than nothing.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been rude,” Chloe says, chuckling awkwardly.

“You have.” Aubrey squeezes her hand. “You’re upset at the choice Beca made, and you’re upset by the outcome of it—I get that, Chlo. But none of this is Emily’s fault.”

“I know,” Chloe sighs, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “I _know_ but…it’s just so frustrating. Maybe I’m just insecure too. I mean…I thought I was something special to Beca, but now I know she’s just one of the kindest, most selfless people in this entire stupid universe, and—ugh, Bree, I’m sorry, this is…this is _so_ not the time for this. It’s so stupid.”

“Oh, Chloe, this isn’t stupid—don’t ever call your feelings stupid,” Aubrey says. “If you care about her, if she makes you happy, then you should tell her. The two of you—if you stop making assumptions, I think you have something really special. And if I’m wrong, then we’ll get out of here and go to France and change our names and marry beautiful Europeans—who aren’t even remotely Russian, of course—and live happily ever after.”

“Maybe Greece instead of France. It’d be a total _Mamma Mia_ situation.”

Aubrey laughs. “Sure, Chlo. Anything you want.”

“Would you wear a sparkly suit and sing ‘Super Trouper’ with me?” Chloe asks, grinning.

Aubrey rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “Ugh, I guess.”

Chloe squeezes her hand, her smile lingering in a way that makes Aubrey smile too. She’s back to some semblance of herself at least. “You’re the best, Bree,” she says earnestly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Not be a cop, probably,” Aubrey chuckles. She looks up in that moment to see Emily lingering by the door, shifting awkwardly like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. “What are you doing, Emily?” Aubrey asks, amused.

Emily meets her eyes like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Oh! Um, I, uh…sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Chloe turns. “It’s fine,” she says. She manages to be polite, though she’s still a little tense. “Come in.”

“Yes, come finish your soup. Do you want seconds?” Aubrey says. When Emily nods eagerly, Aubrey takes her bowl to the stovetop. The room is silent while Emily and Chloe are left at the table alone. If it isn’t the thick kind of silence, Aubrey wouldn’t mind it at all.

As she’s placing the ladle back on its holder, she hears Chloe ask, “Do you want bread? Jessica made some before she left.”

“Oh, that sounds amazing! If—if you don’t mind?”

“Bree?”

“Sure,” Aubrey drawls with her hands on her hips as she surveys the counter. “The bread is right around…”

“Breadbox,” Chloe says.

“Ah.”

With another bowl of soup and two slices of bread in front of Emily, Aubrey relaxes back into her seat to finish her own food. She takes a quick look at Chloe’s bowl and sees the small pile of onions at the bottom of her bowl. She smiles at the typical Chloe finish. At least she has an appetite.

“This is so good,” Emily says, mid-chew as she holds up a chunk of bread she’d ripped off. “I thought my mom made good bread, but wow. Whoever Jessica is, she must be, like, some kind of goddess.”

This makes Aubrey laughs lightly. It’s definitely a thought that crossed her mind several times in all the meals she’s prepared for her here. “It’s a possibility,” she says.

Emily nods eagerly. “I wish I could bake. My boyfriend gets so excited about bread and cakes and pastries and stuff.” She gasps suddenly, her cheeks flushing pink. “Ohmigosh, I don’t know why I called him that. We’ve been on, like, two dates. I just…really like him I guess.”

Aubrey looks at Chloe, who stares back with surprise. Aubrey sees Chloe’s shoulders relax, and smiles a little. She knew she’d recognized Chloe’s jealous side, but she didn’t want to call her out on it. In her experience, it never goes well when Chloe tends to overcompensate by fleeing from the other party like there’s a bomb strapped to them.

“Does he know where you are? Does anyone?” Chloe asks.

Emily shakes her head. “We…um, he’s really great, but I don’t know—I haven’t had the courage to text him, honestly. It feels like…too much, too soon? Like, I’ve only been in the city for two weeks, so I don’t really know anybody here. I was trying to make friends, not get married.”

“Right,” Aubrey says, nodding thoughtfully. It’s a familiar story, but now isn’t the time to focus on the empathy she feels for Emily. “Did you tell your coworkers that you’re new in town?”

“Yeah, I told a couple people,” Emily says, lowering her spoon with a frown. “I mean, they asked and stuff, and it was nice that they wanted to get to know me, you know? My family aren’t really talking to me after I decided to move over here, so it gets awfully lonely.”

“That’s probably why you were picked to be bait then,” Aubrey mumbles to herself.

“Bree, we should search for bugs,” Chloe says, eyes wide.

Aubrey shakes her head. “Stacie already did. No phone. We checked the dress and shoes—nothing as far as we know. Stacie even checked under the insole.”

Emily nods, almost excited. It’s strange, given her situation, but Aubrey doesn’t think much of it. She’s either genuinely excited about being pat down by Stacie, or she’s trying not to freak out about all of this. Given how intrusive the pat-down looked from where she stood, she just hopes it wasn’t the former. “It was really intense,” she tells Chloe. “Are you guys, like, super spies of some kind?”

“Not at all,” Chloe replies curtly.

Emily visibly deflates. “Oh. But you’re the police, right?”

Aubrey and Chloe share a resigned smile. “Not anymore,” Aubrey tells her.

“Oh,” Emily says again—she says this a lot, Aubrey noticed. “Okay.”

“You’re strangely calm about this,” Chloe says, furrowing her brows. She’s confused, though it comes out accusatory, and Aubrey finds herself thinking the same thing.

“I’m not,” Emily replies with a sheepish smile. “I mean, it was freaky waking up in a car with a _really_ injured driver, and—I think you guys probably heard me freak out. Then, I had, like, two hours to calm down while I was driving, so I guess nothing else seems all that weird after that. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow, I suppose. Or you just—you know—lose your head over every little thing. You guys don’t seem like murderers at least…I don’t think.” She ducks a little. “Sorry…I tend to rant when I’m nervous.”

Aubrey raises a brow. “It’s fine. But what makes you think we aren’t murderers?”

“Well, um,” Emily looks down at her bowl, clearly embarrassed, “you’re all really pretty, and…you gave me food?”

Aubrey heaves a sigh and rubs the side of her nose. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t be so trusting just because we gave you some food. You’re in a strange house with strange women—you should be at least a little bit scared.”

“Well,” Emily says slowly, “ _are_ you going to murder me?”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t tell you if I were.”

“Okay then.” She smiles and it’s all earnestness before she returns to her soup.

Aubrey and Chloe exchange yet another look.

What a strange kid.

* * *

Once Aubrey helped Emily settle into a guest room where she can freely process the days events on her own with a fresh towel, a change of clothes, a general medical check-up, and firm instructions to rest, she heads downstairs to join Chloe in the theatre room. To take their mind off things, they planned to watch a movie. It’s an easy distraction, reminiscent of simpler times. Just popcorn in a bowl and some generic movie to take them away from reality for two hours. She feels a little guilty for looking forward to it so much. 

But she’s halfway down the stairs when her heart suddenly catches in her throat.

It’s Stacie. Looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes. She widens them a little before ducking away, rubbing them slightly to hide them from Aubrey. Aubrey’s stomach twists as she takes the remaining steps to Stacie.

“Are you okay?” She asks softly. She stands a step above so they’re the same height, and she gives into the tug to assure her of _something_ when she reaches for her hand. Stacie looks down at the interlaced fingers and nods.

“Everything is good. Stable. She has a minor concussion and a couple of holes in her shoulder, but she’s fine. I, uh, got one of the bullets out. Luckily, the other went straight through,” Stacie says. Her voice is smaller than Aubrey’s used to, more exhausted than the nights she didn’t sleep. “I just…um, I need to get by. To get a new shirt. For her.”

She attempts to let go, but Aubrey tightens her grip. There are a million warning bells in the distance, bells that seemed to matter so much just yesterday, but today is different. Helplessly watching Beca claw her way out of there within an inch of her life changes things. Watching Stacie shatter silently before her changes things. 

“I meant you, you idiot,” Aubrey whispers, reaching out with her free hand to wrap a stray curl around Stacie’s ear. “You’ve been crying.”

“Astute observation, Miss Posen,” Stacie chuckles. It’s hollower than she’s used to, but it’s an improvement. “It happens when you and the ones you love brush with death, and you’re made aware of the limits of your capabilities and the true insignificance of your impact on this damn universe.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes, though her hand still cradles Stacie’s cheek. “Yeah, I felt helpless too,” she says. She pulls Stacie in then and wraps her arms around her in a tight embrace. It takes a few moments for Stacie to react, but she feels her shift against her and eventually, her strong arms wind around her middle. Stacie sighs against her cheek, and here, at least, things feel right. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong around me,” Aubrey says with her cheek against Stacie’s shoulder. “I already know you’re an idiot.”

She feels Stacie’s gentle vibrations of dry laughter and closes her eyes.

“I feel like a below average imbecile right now,” Stacie admits, squeezing Aubrey closer. “I feel like…I could’ve done more. I just…we’ve been doing this for so long, I guess I forgot…she’s not…superhuman. I should’ve…I should’ve done more to protect her. She’s all I have, Aubrey.”

You have me.

Aubrey doesn’t say it out loud—she wants to; she can’t. So, she runs her hand along Stacie’s hair, comforting her in the only way she knows how. She lets the silence wrap them up. Even when Stacie starts to shake a little, even when she feels her clutching tightly to her shirt, and even when the quietest little sob escapes Stacie’s lips against her shoulder, every word in the dictionary feels trite. The silence, in contrast, is full, and the simple gesture of holding her close encapsulates the way her heart beats and breaks for her. And she hopes this is enough.

As time stretches and folds, she feels Stacie relax against her, and maybe it really is enough.

“I’m so tired, Aubrey,” Stacie whispers eventually.

“Me too,” Aubrey replies.

“Later, would you mind…” Stacie trails off, and Aubrey can’t help but smile. The only time this woman is adorably shy, she thinks, is when she’s asking for what she really wants.

Aubrey can’t resist teasing. “Sure, I’ll read that pencil manual again.”

“Very funny,” Stacie huffs.

Aubrey pulls back, sneaking a kiss against Stacie’s cheek on the way. “Then, you better ask me properly,” she says with a smirk as she goes up a step to fully enjoy the shock on Stacie’s face.

A tidal wave of different emotions seems to run through Stacie then. She glowers a little at her open palm, turning it slightly as if she can’t believe there’s nothing in it. She meets Aubrey’s eyes, then touches her cheek with her hand. “Did you just…?”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “If you’re not going to ask, then I’m going to leave.”

This seems to snap Stacie out of her daze as she stretches her limbs out along the length of the staircase to block her from leaving. Aubrey stifles a laugh at Stacie’s impression of a deer in the headlights when, despite what she said, she hasn’t moved an inch.

“Don’t,” Stacie says quickly. “Please—don’t go yet. I…need to know, um, if you’d be open to sleeping in my room tonight. Like last time. I swear, I’ll be good,” she adds in a near panic.

“Tonight? I doubt you’ll make it to noon,” Aubrey says, shaking her head as she takes a step down. “Once you get Beca settled in her room, I expect you to find me immediately.” She then lowers Stacie’s outstretched arm and brushes by her. “Immediately,” she emphasizes, turning to meet Stacie’s eyes from the bottom of the steps.

It takes her a moment to restart her brain, but slowly, Stacie smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

Aubrey scoffs. “Don’t call me ma’am. And you better get going—Beca’s waiting.” Just before she leaves, she softens just enough to give Stacie a smile. One that she hopes can comfort her and convey the things she feels because she certainly doesn’t have the words. “I’ll see you later.”

And Stacie smiles back—the kind of smile that brings her back to that morning, only two yesterdays ago. The kind that makes her feel like she’s Stacie’s entire world and more. There’s a warmth to it that tingles every nerve in her body, and it’s simultaneously too much and not enough.

No matter what happens, she realizes later as she sits in the dark room next to Chloe, she wants this smile to be hers. As the projector flickers on, as she loses focus and interest in whichever movie they’re watching, Aubrey realizes that Stacie’s simple displays of happiness, insignificant in the grand scheme of the living universe, has become such an integral part of _her_ universe that she doesn’t ever want to live without it ever again. 

It’s too much too soon, and it’s too many emotional eggs in one fragile basket, but as a wise imbecile once told her, happiness doesn’t have to be permanent for it to matter.

And yet…when she later wordlessly slips back into Stacie’s bed and feels Stacie’s arm wrap against her, she finds herself wishing this _could_ be permanent. As she covers Stacie’s hand with her own, as she feels her steady breaths against her neck, she can’t seem to shake how _right_ this is in every way.

And later still, when she’s sitting up in bed the next morning, running a hand through her hair and contemplating a morning shower, when she looks down to see the absolute reverence in Stacie’s wide eyes and slightly parted lips—she forgets to breathe. When she thanks her, then presses a soft kiss to her cheek—she feels the increasingly familiar flicker of a long-forgotten flame.

She hears Chloe’s voice, asking if this makes her happy.

She hasn’t been happy in so long, what did she possibly know of it? Things that seemed obvious, clear, things she’s been running after her entire life—before Stacie and Beca—all they gave her were disappointment, a grungy apartment and a mediocre car she can’t even afford.

Here, she feels like more. Like she doesn’t have to constantly prove she’s worthy for more.

That alone is uncharted territory.

And it’s goddamn frightening.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Chloe lets herself into Beca’s room with Stacie’s permission. The curtains are drawn, encapsulating the room in a deep orange kind of darkness. Quietly, she tugs her desk chair over to the side of her bed and sits. Her pulse quickens at the sight of the bandages under her tank top, wrapped around her upper arm, shoulder, and across her chest. Her chest rises and falls with her breathing as she sleeps, and she is beautiful.

She’d seen the way Beca took out those men with her knife. She’d seen it through _her_ eyes. And she should be scared—should at least feel differently about Beca, perhaps. But all she feels is sadness and frustration of seeing her here, and the fury of wanting to murder every one of those men with her own two hands for even _thinking_ about hurting her.

None of this is what she signed up for, she thinks. This isn’t the person she ever wanted to be. She looks down to her lap at the book she’d brought with her. It isn’t, she thinks as she runs her hand over the vintage hardcover of _Harry Potter_ , but in some ways it’s so much more than she could have ever imagined.

Chloe sets the book on Beca’s end table and gingerly takes Beca’s hand in both her own. Slowly, she lowers her head to kiss her knuckle, just as she’d done yesterday. Then, she lets go of her hand, pulls her knees up into the armchair, and closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, she’s surprised to find the amber glow outside to be replaced by complete darkness. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, and she isn’t quite sure what woke her. She sits up and looks around the darkness, squinting into it until her eyes can adjust.

And that’s when she hears it. Like something caught between reality and dreaming, she hears her name in the dark. Followed by the softest whimper and the rustle of sheets.

“Beca?” Chloe says quietly, her voice still scratchy from sleep as she reaches out for her hand.

No response.

Chloe is about to call out when she hears the rustle again. By now, she can vaguely make out Beca’s shape on the bed. She’s still asleep, she realizes, when she sees her squirming. “I’m sorry,” Beca mutters suddenly.

“What for?” Chloe asks before she can stop herself. She wonders if she should wake her, just in case she hurts herself in such a fitful sleep. She clutches her hand and brushes her damp hair away from her face. Beca nearly died, and yet her nightmares are about apologizing to her, Chloe thinks as she pulls the blanket back up to Beca’s chin with a bittersweet smile.

How is she supposed to stay mad when all she wants is for her to be okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! I'm having a mad productive week, so I decided to post a little earlier. I'm hoping to have chapter 8 up next week as well, so I can write something for Christmas. I've been so invested in Staubrey, I need them to have a nice Christmas in another AU, you know what I mean? 
> 
> I currently have a whopping 90k words written up, officially exceeding my longest-running work in the Runaways fandom. Chapter 8 is almost complete, but chapter 9 is pretty rough at the moment. A LOT of things to iron out, as you might imagine from this chapter going forward. I'm going to guess that I'll finish up in January. At the moment, my ten-chapter projection is on point, given all of these latter chapters are all over 13k words long. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who've stuck by me all this time. This story has been such a journey. I rediscovered a sheet of notes and a couple of early drafts a little while ago, and man, I've almost forgotten what my original plans were. 
> 
> Anyway, excited for everyone to get to know Emily a bit more! Stay tuned for 2020's last chapter. It's gonna make a lot of people happy, I think ;)


	8. The Awakening

The first light of dawn is just peeking through the window when Beca awakens to a number of new sensations. First is the pounding in her head and the long, disorienting moments of trying to recall where she is. Second is the soreness in her shoulder, and the sharp protest of pain when she tries to move. Third is the slightest scent of vanilla, vaguely familiar, but she isn’t sure why. Finally, as consciousness fully begins to seep into her brain, she feels the tightness of the bandages, the reality of everything else, and above all, the warmth of her hand.

Slowly she lifts her head. Her breath immediately catches in her throat at the sight of Chloe, sleeping quietly on the edge of her bed, cradling her head in the crook of her elbow as she holds Beca’s hand.

She exhales slowly, her heart so, so full that she hardly recognizes the feeling. It simply isn’t possible to love a person this much, she thinks though she doesn’t yet find the words in this moment. Whenever she looks back at this later, she will see that love is the only word to describe this. Though she has never experienced the depths of this emotion, she will know it intuitively, the way one can identify joy, anger, and sadness without thought.

For now, she tightens her fingers around Chloe’s, and lays her head back down onto the pillow, dizzy with butterflies.

“Beca?” Chloe mumbles sleepily. She lifts her head and rubs her eyes, her lips spreading into a slow smile when their eyes finally meet. “You’re awake.”

“Hey,” Beca says, lifting her good arm with an awkward smile and a stiff, half-wave.

Chloe straightens, stretching a little as she does so, but to Beca’s relief, keeps her hands clasped around Beca’s. “How are you feeling?” She asks.

Beca tries to sit up, and winces a little when her body decides to remind her of her injuries. Wordlessly, Chloe stands from her chair and helps her up. She should be embarrassed, but Chloe decides to sit a little closer on her bed, and everything else is forgotten. “Thanks,” she mumbles. “I’m okay. Alive and breathing.” Then, she cringes. “Did you stay with me all night?”

“Yes,” Chloe says, puffing up her cheeks slightly. “I wanted to be here when you woke up, so I can give you a piece of my mind! You were so reckless, Becs! _And_ you broke our promise!”

Beca casts her eyes down at her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Chlo,” she whispers.

Chloe shakes her head and clasps both hands around Beca’s. “Look at me, please?” Reluctantly, Beca does. “I was mad at you for putting yourself in danger, but now that you’re here, I…I can’t stay mad at you. I’m just…so happy you’re okay, Beca.”

A current sparks between them then, as if all the words unsaid suddenly snaps into place. Chloe feels herself drawing closer to the love and regret in Beca’s eyes, the pain of coming close to losing everything before they had the chance to give themselves something to lose. She has the same expression in her own eyes—she sees it in Beca’s—its effects equally magnetic, and she knows this because Beca’s hand had slipped out of her own some time ago and is gently tugging her closer by the fabric of her shirt.

They meet each other halfway in a kiss that means everything. It’s deliberate, slow, a little clumsy when Beca tries to lift her injured shoulder. But Chloe catches her by the elbow, and she welcomes Beca’s hand on her cheek as she leans in to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Chloe is nothing like anything she’s allowed herself to imagine before. It’s gentle, sweet, and the longer she stays within reach, the more it makes sense. Chloe is strong when she holds her up, and soft when she lets her fall into her. There’s a push and pull, an ebb and flow, to the way they move together, and Beca finds her eyes fluttering close when the depths of blue become too much.

When Beca finally pulls away, she smiles at the dazed confusion on Chloe’s face. A part of her immediately feels the voracious need to latch onto _some_ part of Chloe, but she feels the fire burn in the pit of her stomach too, and she knows the second kiss would be something else entirely.

“Wow,” Chloe breathes. Her dark eyes and flushed cheeks tell her they’re on the same page. “That was…”

“I want to kiss you again,” Beca blurts, catching Chloe by surprise. When it comes out louder than she intended, she ducks her eyes and cringes. “I—I mean, I do, b-but we shouldn’t.” She clears her throat. “At least…not until my shoulder gets better? O-only if you want to, of course.”

Chloe giggles. “Of course, I want to, silly. I don’t see why we can’t.”

She reaches out for Beca, but Beca looks away. “We shouldn’t…it’s…my shoulder…and stuff…so, like…”

Chloe raises a brow. “Okay,” she drawls. “How about just…” Chloe leans forward and gives Beca a peck on the lips, lingering just long enough to scramble everything in Beca’s brain. “Innocent ones like that?”

“T-that should be okay,” Beca says. Shyly, she tugs at Chloe’s shirt to beckon her closer still, so she can comfortably return the favour. She, too, lingers just long enough for the heat to spike, and she sighs when Chloe is the one to break the kiss this time.

“Technically, you don’t need your shoulder to kiss more, Becs,” Chloe says, her lips curling mischievously as her hands drop to Beca’s hips. “You don’t…need to move very much at all…”

“Chloe,” Beca whispers, stilling her curious hands with a wince when her shoulder suddenly demands her attention. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Chloe pouts. “I’ll take care of you.” Her blue eyes are smouldering now that she’s set her sights on what she wants. The way she’s looking at her now—it’s enough to suck all the air out of the room. “I’m really good at kissing,” she whispers with a wink.

Beca groans, earning herself a laugh and a quick kiss on the jaw. “You’re making this hard,” she grumbles.

“Sorry,” Chloe replies. At least she has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I just…really want to kiss you some more. And maybe…a little more than kissing too.” She shrugs, as if it’s the most casual admission in the world, and Beca feels her heart leap out of her chest and into Chloe’s arms.

But she pulls it back in. “I do too,” she says, her brows furrowed in frustration, “but…” She trails off, then mumbles something unintelligible.

Chloe tilts her head. “What did you say?”

Beca repeats herself.

“Um,” Chloe scrunches her brows a little, still confused. “If we’re moving too fast…”

“No! It’s not that, I…” Beca closes her eyes and exhales through her nose. “I said…” She bites her lip, her cheeks fiery with embarrassment. Her eyes dart away, as far from Chloe as possible. But even in her peripheral, Chloe is starting to look concerned, so she clears her throat. “I said I’m not a pillow princess.”

Silence.

Then, Chloe snorts.

“Oh my god, Becs,” she says, slapping a hand over her mouth to smother a giggle. “You’re too cute.”

Beca frowns. Her whole body feels like it’s burning up. “I’m—I’m serious! I’m not, and I refuse to be.” She adds the last part under her breath, and Chloe almost misses it.

“I know,” Chloe says with a lopsided grin. She pokes her on the nose. “You’re always serious.”

“Well, maybe I’m just…really serious about you,” Beca says, looking down and her hands wrapped up around Chloe’s. “God, that was lame,” she mutters to herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

Chloe’s lips part, but nothing comes out. In the time she’s gotten to know Beca, their affection for one another has grown organically. She feels it every moment they’re together, and even in her moments of doubt, she knows Beca cares about her in whatever capacity she can. Beca is the kind of woman who cares so wholeheartedly, who makes everyone feel special—especially Chloe. But never did she expect Beca to ever express it in words—words that Chloe hopes she didn’t just dream up, because even Chloe, who believes wholeheartedly in the power of words, is at a loss when it comes to describing everything she feels for Beca.

“Chloe, are you crying?” Beca asks, eyes wide in surprise.

Chloe sniffles. “Oh, crap,” she mumbles, sliding her hand from Beca’s just long enough to dab at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Jeez, look what you did,” she tries to laugh.

Beca winces. “I’m...sorry? Um, did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, no,” Chloe says when Beca deflates. She reaches out, cups her face in her hands, and leans in to kiss her softly. “I’m, like, overwhelmed with how perfect you are. Even if you did get yourself hurt saving another girl.”

“A girl who was meant to look just like you,” Beca replies into the inch between their lips. “They knew how to get me.”

“Ooh, good save,” Chloe grins.

“Are you…okay, though?” Beca asks tentatively.

“More than okay,” Chloe says, caressing Beca’s cheek lightly with her thumb. “I like you so much, Becs. You know that?”

Beca’s smile is a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, but her hand is strong when it touches Chloe’s, her eyes so blue and full against the early morning light filtering through the curtains. “I like you so much too,” she says, the words wrapping themselves around the two of them, binding Beca to her in a way that feels irrevocably _hers_ like a perfect bow on a perfect present. Chloe breathes a sigh of relief, because she’d given away her own heart to Beca so long ago.

“You should probably try to get a few more hours in. I want you to get better as soon as possible,” Chloe says, dropping her hand down to her collarbone. “Before you have no choice _but_ to be a pillow princess.”

She hooks a finger into the low neck of her tank top, but Beca quickly stills her hand, laughing nervously with an embarrassed grin. “You’re…really something, Chloe,” she says.

Chloe bites her lip. “I’m teasing,” she says lightly. “As much as I think you’d make an adorable princess, I respect your boundaries. I’m here to take care of you, Becs—for real. Okay?”

Beca lets go of a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension drops from her shoulders, thankfully, because she’s more than aware of her stellar track record of saying no to Chloe. Especially when it pertains something she’s being dying to scream yes to from a rooftop somewhere. Instead, she offers the best compromise she can think of.

“Chloe?” She asks.

“Yes?” Chloe says expectantly.

“Will you be my teddy bear tonight?”

Chloe snorts and let’s out a breathy laugh that Beca adores. “I swear, I was going to kidnap Amy and throw her into a closet somewhere if you didn’t ask me soon.”

Beca’s brows shoot up. “Would you have been jealous?”

“Seriously?” Chloe doesn’t hesitate. “A hundred percent! I’m not proud of that side of me, but it’s there and I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Kidnap Amy so she doesn’t get to be your teddy bear, that is.”

“I think you underestimate Amy,” Beca laughs. “She’s scrappy. Wrestled a dingo once—so she says.”

Chloe gives her a look. “I think you underestimate how much I like you, Beca.”

“Oh.”

Chloe crawls over to the empty side of the bed and slips beneath the cover. When Beca lowers herself back into bed, Chloe scoots right up against Beca’s side and drapes an arm across her middle, holding her snugly by the waist. “With your shoulder and stuff, you’ll be my teddy bear for now,” Chloe says, smiling against the bare skin of Beca’s uninjured shoulder. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Beca whispers with a content sigh that instantly brings a smile to Chloe’s face. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

Yet another stray, Stacie thinks as she stares across the table at Emily, who is gulping down a bowl of cereal like she’s never eaten in her life. She pushes her glasses up, watching her in fascination. She’s barely spoken more than a few words to her, but she doesn’t seem like much of a threat.

Perhaps she’s simply reckless because, miraculously, she’d slept well last night. A full night of sleep with Aubrey in her arms. No nightmares. Just the exhaustion of yesterday washed away by the beauty of sleep and the woman she can’t seem to stop adoring.

When she checked in on Beca to find Chloe curled up around her this morning, _everything_ feels a little different. Lighter. Brighter.

For the first time in as long as she can remember, she feels the optimism of a Disney princess. Like if she suddenly belts out a few notes, she’ll have bluebirds flying in with a flower crown. She’d wear the damn thing too.

No stray can dampen her mood.

Aubrey leans across the counter on her elbows, gorgeous in her emerald blouse and dark grey cardigan— _her_ grey cardigan. “Coffee, Stace?” She asks with a mug in each hand.

“Aw, Bree, are we finally using nicknames?” Stacie says, grinning at her with her chin in her hand. “I’m partial to baby, darling, and your majesty.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t miss the ghost of a smile threatening to break the façade. “You’re such an idiot. Is that a no for coffee?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Stacie replies.

“Sure.”

Aubrey soon slides into the breakfast booth next to Stacie with two mugs in hand. Stacie thanks her and cups her hands around the steaming mug. Green tea, she muses as she takes a sip. A good choice. She burns her tongue and earns herself a shake of the head from Aubrey, but it’s still her new favourite drink. It’s just so Aubrey—warm, healing, with the tendency to scald if she isn’t careful.

Aubrey, on her own wavelength as always, has her hands folded on the table and she’s all business.

“How are you feeling, honey?” She asks Emily, who awkwardly smiles back at her with her spoon on her mouth.

“ _Honey_?” Stacie says, lowering her mug. “I get idiot and she gets _honey_? You’ve known each other for a day. Less than a day! I _just_ got ‘Stace’!”

“Please ignore her,” Aubrey tells Emily. Stacie frowns, but everything is immediately forgotten when, under the table, she feels Aubrey pat her on the knee. She isn’t sure what it signals, but it’s enough to bring back the bluebirds. Perhaps Miss Posen is coming around after all, Stacie thinks as she settles back into her mug of tea and smiles, content.

“Oh, um, okay,” Emily says, giving Stacie a small, somewhat nervous smile. Stacie doesn’t know why, but she suddenly feels like she should pet the girl on the head. Thankfully, Aubrey starts talking again, so she doesn’t get the chance to embarrass herself.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, the bed was super comfy! And don’t worry, I stayed put all night like you said,” Emily replies with pride.

“Good,” Aubrey says. “There are cameras in the hallways, so if we check the tape, we won’t see you sneaking around?”

It’s an empty threat, but Stacie loves the threatening edge. How far they’ve come since the day _she_ was the one doing the threatening.

Emily shakes her head vigorously.

Aubrey smiles. “In that case, do you feel well enough to answer a few questions about everything that’s happened so far?”

“Oh my gosh, that was such a cool detective thing to say,” Emily gasps. She flushes a little when her eyes dart away, as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud. At least, Stacie _hopes_ she didn’t mean to say something so embarrassing out loud.

“I don’t know if Aubrey told you,” Stacie says with an amused smirk. “But we are not detectives. Quite the opposite. We are—”

“Please don’t say ladies of justice,” Aubrey sighs.

“Ladies of justice!”

Aubrey massages her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “What we are is complicated,” she tells Emily. In more ways than one—her hand is still on Stacie’s knee.

Emily bobbles her head. “Right, right, right—gotcha, gotcha, gotcha.”

From beside her on the bench, Stacie grabs her laptop and opens it in front of her. “For now, you can pretend she’s the harlequin romance novel lawyer, and I’m the hot secretary,” she tells Emily with a wink.

“Oh my god, the _one_ day you listen to me about your damn glasses,” Aubrey mumbles.

“She loves hot nerds,” Stacie stage whispers to Emily, who simply smiles back in the nervous way she does pretty much everything. Except when she’s eating, apparently.

Emily’s been watching the back and forth all morning as she fills her cheeks with cereal while she munches like an impatient squirrel. Lawyers or not, she finds these women endlessly entertaining.

“Stacie, shut up and take notes.”

“Yes, Miss Posen. Also, I received your memo and I will also gladly accompany you in the office tonight while your husband is away,” Stacie says with exaggerated sweetness. Her smile broadens when Aubrey snorts, and turns away to hide her face. She feels a pinch to her knee when Aubrey clears her throat and directs her attention back to Emily.

“Emily, what can you tell us about Blackstone?” she says, retracting her hand from Stacie’s leg to fold them beneath her chin. Stacie shoots Aubrey a little pout that goes unnoticed, but it’s not enough to shoo the bluebirds away just yet.

Emily furrows her brow as she’s shaking out more cereal into her milk. It’s her third bowl, but nobody says anything. Her appetite is starting to rival Beca’s and Stacie dimly makes a second note to fill Jessica in on the whole situation and _definitely_ plan a second trip to Costco before they return. Maybe get a few more boxes of this green tea too. “I don’t know much,” Emily says. “I’m pretty new, but everything seemed pretty normal until the new uniforms.”

“How did you find out about this job?” Aubrey asks.

“Online,” Emily says with a little shrug, “I’m not a licensed bartender or anything, but they offered training and stuff, so I thought it would be a fun change. Before I came out here, I was a CPA at my mom’s firm.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stacie looks up from her laptop, and shoots Emily a look from above her glasses. “You’re, like, sixteen.”

Emily laughs. “I get that a lot,” she says with a sheepish smile, “but I’m actually twenty-eight.”

“Out of curiosity,” Aubrey says, as stoic as ever, “why did you decide to leave? To end up working at a place like Blackstone, no less.”

“Same reason as a lot of people, I guess.”

“Which is…?”

“To chase a dream!” Emily says, grinning.

“Let me guess, modelling?” Stacie says with a smirk. “Acting? Singing? You have the kind of energy that draws in a younger crowd.”

Emily blushes. “Um, thank you? I think—I don’t know. No one has ever said that to me before,” she says carefully. Her eyes dart over to Aubrey, though she isn’t quite sure what she’s looking for, nor does she find it in her unblinking expression.

“You’re kind of awkward, but in an endearing kind of way. You’re tall too, so that helps,” Stacie goes on matter-of-factly.

Once again, Emily looks over to Aubrey, unsure what to say. Finally, Aubrey crosses her arms. “You don’t have to look so scared, Emily,” she says with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “Stacie is a natural flirt, but she’s harmless.”

“Wha—I wasn’t flirting!” Stacie gasps, a hand flying to her heart in mock offense. “I’m just stating facts! Like a _professional_ in the _industry_?”

“Actually,” Emily says with a nervous chuckle, “I’m not trying to be a model or actor or singer or whatever.”

Aubrey, ignoring Stacie’s pout and blatant bid for attention, is entirely focused on Emily. Her piercing stare and strong, silent posture patiently waits for Emily to elaborate.

Emily drops her spoon into her bowl and leans forward. “Do you guys know Cece Moore?” She says, just above a whisper, as if this question is about to uncover a great secret. A secret so exciting that she leaps into explanation before either Stacie or Aubrey can respond. “She’s _super_ cool. She’s not a scientist, but she’s, like, solved over fifty cold cases using _just_ DNA. She caught criminals who weren’t even _suspects_ in the crime—guys who spent, like, forty years living out their normal lives after they killed people. It’s _crazy_. She’s my hero. _That’s_ what I wanted to do out here. I just _love_ true crime and I _so_ admire, like, civilian sleuths who don’t give up, you know? When the police exhaust all their options and start to give up—it’s nice to think there are people out there who _don’t_ give up, you know? For justice, and all that. And DNA—combined with human ingenuity and a little brilliant deducing magic—is kind of the future. The Golden State Killer case proves it—its _super_ exciting, and I so, so want to be a part of the zeitgeist—am I using that right? You know what I mean, right? Like, we— _civilians;_ civilians rallying together _—_ that’s the future. Yeah.” She takes a deep breath at the end—she spoke so quickly that she looked almost dizzy. But her passion is clear to anyone within a five-mile radius, and Stacie and Aubrey look at each other, dumbfounded.

“You…want to solve crimes?” Aubrey asks slowly.

“Yeah! I’m from a small town and nothing usually happens, but…um, well, I had a sister, you know? But…she disappeared a long time ago. I was really young, so I don’t remember much—she was five years older. Nobody talks about it, mostly ‘cause everyone’s tired of talking about it. So…so, um, I was hoping to find someone like Cece who could train me, or like, take classes in the day. Maybe someday…” Emily clears her throat, “sorry, I-I’m rambling again.”

Aubrey’s expression is sympathetic, while Stacie continues to type. Neither seems to know what to say, and Emily kicks herself a little for bringing up something so heavy, so quickly. “A-Anyway, that’s why I took the bartending job.”

“Right…um, did you see any suspicious characters around Blackstone?” Aubrey’s voice is steady, but Emily doesn’t miss the uncomfortable glances she tosses at Stacie.

“Especially regarding a man named Eddie Choi,” Stacie adds. “And his…associates.”

Emily looks back at her soggy cereal, and stirs it a little with her spoon, silently relieved that they moved on. “Eddie was the boss, I think. Like I said, I’m pretty new, and I heard he’s kinda new too. He was always very nice though. A lot of cool tattoos.”

“Clearly not that nice, as he’s likely the one who kidnapped you. If not him, then his men,” Aubrey sighs.

“Oh.”

Aubrey reaches across the table to pat her on the hand. “Sorry, sweetie. Do you have any idea why he might pick you in particular?”

Emily shakes her head stiffly. “I don’t know…I…I haven’t even really managed to remember everyone’s names yet. And I don’t remember much from that night except…oh! I remembered something in the car, but the person who saved me—she told me to keep it to myself until we got here. I guess I can tell you guys? I don’t remember a whole lot. Just a weird detail. I’m not even sure I didn’t dream it all up...it’s probably not that helpful.”

Aubrey nods. “Well, even the smallest detail can be helpful. We suspect you were quite heavily sedated in some way, so anything you can provide will be good.”

“Yeah, about that,” Emily pauses, wrinkling her nose in thought, “at one point, I kind of woke up, but I couldn’t really move? All I remember is seeing a man’s face, kinda. Well, I remember he had a thin moustache, ‘cause, like, my eyes were so fuzzy I thought it was two mouths and it really freaked me out.” She cringes at the memory. “Sorry, this is pretty useless, isn’t it? But that’s all I kind of remember, so… maybe it’ll come back to me?”

Aubrey and Stacie exchange yet another look.

Stacie then turns back to her laptop and types something in, before spinning it around to face Emily. On her screen is a picture of Henry, a still from Beca’s footage on the night of the party. “Did he look anything like this guy?”

Emily stares at it for a long while, humming and hawing in a way that seems too distracting to be helpful. “Kinda?” She says finally. “But, like, with less hair maybe?”

Stacie reaches for the laptop and draws a line beneath Henry’s nose. “How about now?” She asks.

“Ooh, yeah, maybe! I’m still not sure, but…he does look familiar.”

“It’s a hunch at best, but it’s better than nothing,” Aubrey sighs. “It also doesn’t really prove anything. George Cole may have visited Emily once or twice, but does is throw out the fleeing to Asia theory. It doesn’t explain Eddie’s role, the creepy Chloe costumes, and the weird explosion.”

“Yes! Oh my god, the explosion!” Stacie exclaims, grabbing Aubrey by the shoulders. “Aubrey, you’re a genius!” She snatches her laptop back to her side of the table and proceeds to type furiously.

Aubrey looks over at her screen and frowns. “Normally, I’m all for recognition, but what the hell are you doing?”

“Aubrey,” Stacie says, rising from her seat even as her fingers stay glued to her keyboard. “I need to…check something.” She looks up, slams the lid of her laptop shut, and grins. “I need to go downstairs and review the footage, but I _think_ I might be able to guess where Cole is. I’ll need your help later once I compile my thoughts. Emily, um, you—”

“C-can I come with you?” Emily blurts loudly. Her eyes are wide, and she’s stock-still, but Stacie can feel the excitement from a mile away.

“Sorry, kid,” she says, picking up her laptop and mug with a wry smile, “but you should know I’m not your average sleuth. It’s messy and gritty, and nobody cares whodunnit. Your story is…ah, nevermind. I suggest you stick to the romantic stuff while you can. We’ll find you if we have questions.”

“But explosions and finding this guy—I don’t even know who he is but that...that…sounds _awesome_ ,” Emily says, shooting up from her seat. “Please? I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m there.”

Aubrey, still seated in the booth, crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Stacie, perhaps you should be a bit more concise,” she says.

Stacie sighs. “Fine. Emily, you should know that we’re…assassins. We’re otherwise committed right now, but that’s what we are. Well, Beca and I are. You shouldn’t get involved.”

A shock of silence falls over them. Emily’s eyes dart from Stacie to Aubrey, then back to Stacie. “Wow,” she breathes eventually. “ _Really_? That is…so _cool_.” To herself, she whispers, “I have _so_ many questions.” Then, to Aubrey, she is practically bouncing with enough energy to shatter a window when she asks, “What about you, Miss Aubrey?”

“What about me?” She challenges with a raised brow.

But Emily, it seems, isn’t afraid of anybody when she gets going. “Are you… a part of it? Ohmigosh, are you guys, like, a crime-fighting couple?”

“No…” Stacie draws out slowly, turning to Aubrey when she realizes she doesn’t know which part of that sentence she’s objecting to. “No?”

She can see a tinge of pink across Aubrey’s cheeks, but she deftly swerves around the question, and Stacie is both impressed and disappointed. “I’m a cop,” she tells Emily, looking away. “Well, used to be. FBI in another life.”

“Our story is complicated,” Stacie says with a sheepish smile. She’s speaking to Emily, but her eyes are still on Aubrey. “Keep listening to podcasts—gets you in less trouble.”

Emily, of course, doesn’t seem to get it. She’s watching the two of them like they’re the world’s fluffiest puppy and she has the insatiable need to squeeze them both. “Please, Miss Stacie,” she says, clapping her hands together in prayer, “I just want to learn. It’s my lifelong dream, and—and— _please_ , can I watch you do it? _Please, please, please_. I’ll…do dishes. Laundry? Whatever you need.”

“Emily,” Stacie says incredulously, “did you not hear what Aubrey said? I’m an _assassin_. I’m not exactly one of the good guys.”

“Omigosh, you’re like real-life _Dexter_ ,” Emily breathes. Stacie isn’t quite sure how to react to the doey eyes and the way she seems to voice her thoughts out loud with no qualms. Emily speaks then, louder when she’s addressing Stacie. “I get it—I think. Like, sometimes it’s not that straightforward. But you guys saved me, and—and don’t I deserve to understand what happened to me? Also, like, you’re literally my heroes, and—and it would mean so much…please? _Pleeeease_.”

“She said please, Stace,” Aubrey adds, rubbing her forehead with a chuckle.

Stacie sighs deeply. “You are _such_ a weird kid,” she concedes. “You’re lucky Aubrey’s got such a soft spot for you, and I hate saying no to her. Fine, we’ll reconvene in two hours. Let me work in peace, and then we can go over everything with Beca and Chloe.”

“Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” Emily squeals.

“I’ll let Chloe and Beca know,” Aubrey says, flashing Stacie a resigned smile. And Stacie can’t help but return it. They may be in a strange place right now, but her heart still soars when she sees Aubrey smile.

* * *

Meanwhile, shrouded in their own world, Beca and Chloe laid in bed, chatting in hushed tones, without a care in the world. Chloe is curled up against Beca, her head tucked beneath her chin as her hand rests on her stomach. Beca, uninhibited by Chloe’s pure and honest affection, looped her good arm around Chloe.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Chloe asks suddenly. She has been talking for some time about the theory that Hermione Granger is the true protagonist of the _Harry Potte_ r series. They finished a chapter together only fifteen minutes ago, and though the book is resting on Beca’s bedside table now, she loves listening to Chloe talk about anything she loves. There’s such an infectious glow about her that draws Beca in, even when she has little to contribute. So, the sudden pivot pulls her out of the pull of Chloe’s voice and catches her off guard.

“Sure,” Beca says. The hand on Chloe’s waist drawing lazy patterns along her hip stills.

“I know you’re… technically, like, on paper, not alive, but have you ever wanted to just…I don’t know, go somewhere? Start over, maybe?”

The question dredges something up from within Beca. It’s a familiar kind of longing for something she can’t identify, and its sudden arrival surprises Beca, because she was sure she’d banished this feeling a long time ago.

“I…don’t spend a lot of time thinking about things I can’t do or have,” she says slowly. It feels raw, this admission, but in Chloe’s arms, she feels…safe. “I guess…I wouldn’t mind. Someday. But…maybe it’s kind of boring, but even with what I have now…it was never something I could’ve imagined for myself. So…I guess I’m okay with staying put too.”

“You’re _definitely_ not boring. I can imagine you sitting under the stars, strumming a guitar and singing songs. Enjoying the simple life.”

“That sound nice,” Beca says, smiling as she pictures Chloe beside her, singing along with Cotton in her lap. “But I don’t sing.”

“Oh, I’ll make you sing,” Chloe huffs.

“Probably,” Beca concedes with a roll of her eyes.

“Ooh! What do you think about a few rescued dogs?”

Beca raises a brow. “Is this what I should want for me, or what you want for yourself?”

“Both,” Chloe admits with a lopsided smile. “To be honest, I’m not as ambitious as Aubrey, and sometimes it frustrates me. I guess…happiness is a complicated road, and I don’t know—is it weird that I don’t think it always has to point…upwards? What we have now…I think it’s nice.”

“I don’t think that’s weird,” Beca says quietly. “Rescuing Cotton and taking care of her with you…it makes me happy. That’s…pretty simple, but…it’s true.”

Chloe leans back to meet Beca’s eyes with a grin. “It makes me happy too,” she whispers, reaching up to angle Beca’s jaw down for a kiss. It’s slow and languid as she savours the way Beca seems to melt right into her. Everything about her is so strong, yet so soft, and given the opportunity, she’d gladly spend the reminder of eternity kissing her.

“You should probably get up and feed her soon,” Beca murmurs breathlessly.

“But I can stay here and kiss you forever,” Chloe whines, kissing the side of Beca’s jaw when she laughs.

“I would love for you to stay here and kiss me forever, but Cotton will starve.”

“I’ll starve too, if I don’t get my fix,” Chloe mumbles against Beca’s skin.

Beca turns, wincing a little when her shoulder starts to protest, but manages to return a light kiss to Chloe’s forehead. “Never thought I’d be the responsible one before,” she says.

“You’re the Jessica,” Chloe giggles, playfully tapping her on the nose.

Beca snorts. “You would _not_ say that if you watch me cook.”

A sudden knock at the door interrupts their peace. “Hey, Chlo? Are you in here?” It’s Aubrey. Chloe almost bursts into laughter at the panic-stricken expression on Beca’s face. Calm down, she mouths, stroking the underside of her chin with the side of her finger.

Chloe pushes herself up to a sitting position, instantly missing Beca’s warmth. “Yeah, I’m here,” she calls out.

“We’re meeting up in three hours—is Beca up?”

“Uh, yep,” she replies, trying to keep the smile out of her voice when she reaches over to brush a lock of hair out of Beca’s eyes and behind her ear. “She’s up.”

“We’ll come up so Beca doesn’t have to move too much—is that okay?”

Beca tilts her head toward the door. What? Chloe mouths.

“It’s fine—tell her it’s fine,” Beca mumbles, interlocking her fingers with Chloe’s shyly.

“You can tell her too, you know,” Chloe whispers back with a giggle.

“Chloe?” Aubrey interrupts.

“Uh, yeah—yeah, she’s fine with that,” she replies quickly.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you in three hours. You guys should probably get ready—eat something before we get up there.” A pause, long enough to believe they’re alone once more. Chloe cuddles up against Beca again, grinning when Beca’s hand finds its way into her hair. But Aubrey speaks again, and their hearts nearly leap out of their chests. “Do you want me to feed your rabbit for you?” she asks. And Chloe swears she hears a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Uh, yes, please! Thanks, Bree!” As they wait for Aubrey’s footsteps to recede, Chloe whispers, “She definitely thinks we slept together last night.”

“Yup.”

“But we shouldn’t prove her right…right?” Chloe says, playing with the hem of Beca’s shirt.

“Nope.”

“But I mean…Aubrey hates being wrong,” Chloe murmurs. Her fingers dance between Beca’s shirt and shorts.

Beca lets out a nervous laugh and covers Chloe’s wandering hand with her own. “Chloe,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “Patience.”

Chloe sighs dejectedly and settles her hand back on Beca’s stomach, safely away from her shorts. “Fine, but I’m gonna enjoy the cuddling at least for as long as I can.”

“Okay,” Beca says quietly. “But…kissing is okay too.”

Chloe leans back with an arched brow. “Perfect,” she says with a grin as she puckers her lips.

Beca snorts. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

Chloe holds her pucker patiently and doesn’t reply.

Beca sighs, but there’s nothing but air flowing through her, joy and exhilaration filling her chest like clouds as she kisses Chloe once more. As Chloe rakes her fingers through her hair, she sighs again—this time, it’s something else. Something tangible and safe and there’s nothing but _love_ coursing through her veins when she realizes Chloe was right. She really _can_ kiss her forever. Not as a hyperbole for this perfect moment in this perfect time, but as a truth. It’s permission. It’s her heart opening to the possibility this could be…as close to forever as her imagination allows.

And god, it’s liberating.

* * *

“Oh my gosh, he’s soooo cute,” Emily says, dropping down to sit on her heels as she immediately wiggles a finger into Cotton’s cage.

Aubrey hands her a small carrot stick from a bag, smiling. Emily’s enthusiasm for just about everything is contagious. “This is Cotton. Beca and Chloe think she’s a girl. They’re the ones raising her, so it’s their call, I guess. Since the bunny can’t tell us and for some reason nobody has checked.”

Emily somehow manages to beam even more when she drops the carrot stick into the bowl and Cotton hops a step toward her, her nose twitching frantically. But the enthusiasm is short-lived when she turns back to Aubrey. “Chloe really doesn’t like me, huh?” she asks.

And Aubrey softens. It’s clear that Emily isn’t used to being disliked. “It’s not personal,” she explains. “Beca means a lot to her, and she risked a lot to save you. It’s more about the two of them than it is about you. She’ll get over it.” Aubrey crouches down to fill the rest of Cotton’s bowl with a variety of different greens. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she and Beca made up last night,” she adds with a frown.

Emily tilts her head. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes and no. It’s a bit complicated.”

“Well…relationships are pretty complicated, I guess,” Emily says with a sympathetic smile. “Um, do you think Miss Stacie likes me?”

“Hm, I’m not sure,” Aubrey replies. “I think she’s someone who…is very cautious when it comes to who she is willing to devote her time and energy to. Why do you ask?”

“O-oh, um, maybe this is stupid, and she probably wouldn’t want to waste her time with me, so I don’t even know if I should say this, but—”

“Emily.”

“Ah, sorry. Rambling,” Emily says, laughing uneasily as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I guess…I was hoping…that you guys might…want to…you know…be interested in…maybe…being my Cece Moore?”

“You…want us to teach you how to profile DNA?” Aubrey says, furrowing her brows.

“Ah, no, no. Just…being my mentor, maybe? You know, teaching me how to catch bad guys the way you guys do. It…doesn’t have to be anything related to DNA…”

“Hm…well, tell me something, Emily,” Aubrey says, taking a seat on the edge of the lounge chair as Emily continues to watch Cotton eat. “You’re really into true crime, right? I understand you want to find your sister someday, but…why didn’t you try to join the police force or something? Or a profiler, or…I don’t know, CSI. You know, work a little closer to something you’re so passionate about. On an official level.” 

Emily retracts her finger from the cage and stares up at the balustrade for a moment. “Oh, um, I’ve honestly never even considered it,” she says, turning toward Aubrey slightly with a sheepish smile. “I don’t think it’d be the same, you know? I feel like there would be so much…politics involved, and I don’t want to be old and cynical and forgetting about why I love this in the first place.”

“But wouldn’t you make more of a difference if you were on the front lines?” Aubrey surprises herself with the question. Making a difference—it’s an overused line in any career, a pumped-up justification for going through the motions. A self-righteous way of asserting your value, inflating your self-worth. A way to pretend all those years of service didn’t amount to nothing. Aubrey hasn’t thought about making a difference in the larger scheme of things in years.

“Probably,” Emily laughs lightly, “or maybe not. I’m not that athletic, and I don’t think I’d like the academic stuff very much. But also, I don’t know, there are a lot of good people out there doing that already. Working on cases and stuff. I’m more interested in cold cases—stuff people forgot about, you know? Like, I wish I knew all the cool forensic science stuff, but—that’s why I think Cece Moore is so amazing—she’s just a regular woman who’s really good at making connections. Where institutions fail, she and everyone like her—they pick up the pieces other people leave behind and put it together in ways they couldn’t. That’s all it is. I think that’s amazing in its own way. Like, think of the Amanda Knox case—all the evidence was right there, but there was all this attention from the media and the public, and so much pressure to do _something_. I don’t know, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think the law is right all the time, especially when law gets mixed up in other things, I guess. Oh stars, I’m sorry—I’m just going on and on and on again.”

“It’s fine,” Aubrey says, more to herself than anyone else. “I think you’re right. The law is supposed to be a universal immovable, immutable thing, but…” She trails off, unsure how to end the sentence anymore.

Emily turns and sits down cross-legged on the balcony floor, her big eyes bright and curious. “Why did you decide to join the FBI?”

Aubrey scoffs. “Maybe I’m getting old and cynical,” she says, looking up at the cloudless blue skies above them, “but these days, I’m not quite sure. My father was in the military, and I’ve lived my whole life trying to live up to expectations, I suppose. There was that old cliché of trying to change the world, keep it safe, but…I wonder…” She takes a deep breath. “There’s so much competition, and the politics you mentioned—god. Sometimes, I think we’re trained to be lost without a chain of command, and that’s all it really boils down to.” 

“Wow…I can imagine it must be pretty different living with Miss Stacie. I mean, I don’t know her very well, but I can’t imagine her answering to anyone,” Emily says with a small smile. “She’s _so_ cool.”

This pulls a smile from Aubrey. “Yeah, she’s got her own thing going. Her being _cool_ is debatable, but she’s definitely…had me questioning a lot of things, if I’m honest. By the way,” she says, “you don’t really have to be so formal with us. Like you said, Stacie isn’t one for decorum. We’re…friends here.”

“Sorry,” Emily chuckles, rubbing her arm sheepishly, “my mom always taught me when in doubt, it’s always better to be polite. Gosh, you must think I’m such a child.”

“Not at all,” Aubrey laughs. “You seem to know exactly what you want, and I admire that about you.”

“Aw, thanks,” Emily says, turning back to Cotton with a shy smile. “That means a lot. You and Mi—Stacie and Beca and Chloe…you’re all so amazing.”

“Yeah…I guess we are,” Aubrey murmurs thoughtfully. Despite how the mission went, Emily is safe and Beca is alive—that alone is something to be proud of. The old Aubrey would’ve been angry, she realizes with a wry smile. Angry that things didn’t go according to plan, that people got hurt. She would’ve run herself up a wall thinking of all the ways it could’ve gone better. But all she has to do is remember the hollowed expression on Stacie’s face yesterday and the way she swallowed herself up with guilt.

The old Aubrey had no other priorities knowing Chloe was safely ensconced in the motions of her day. The old Aubrey didn’t have much else to live for.

“Do you ever miss it?” Emily asks out of the blue. “The FBI?”

“Honestly,” Aubrey says, looking down at her hands, “I’ve been too bitter about it to think about missing it. I worked my ass off since the moment I could walk and talk, and to lose it all so easily.” She shook her head. “It makes me wonder why I wanted it so much in the first place.”

Emily nods slowly. She then stands up and rubs her hands down the side of her borrowed leggings. “Maybe...things change,” she says with a little shrug. “I mean, I spent most of my life following my mother’s legacy. After my sister…well, I never saw my dad again after that. My mom took me and moved to a new town. Started from nothing, raised me by herself before she remarried to a man who didn’t mind her history and how crazy super smart she is. All this _while_ she founded one of the most successful accounting firms in the state. And I…spent so long feeling like I had to be a part of that. But once I got there, I felt like…well, maybe I wanted my own legacy, you know?” Emily walks over to the balustrade and leans her back against it. Her gaze drops down to her fidgeting fingers. “Sorry, I went on again, didn’t I? I just think maybe…people never truly have it all figured out…maybe ever, you know? So, we keep changing. And that’s okay.”

“Yes,” Aubrey says softly, resting her chin in her hand as she leans on the arm rest, “you’re absolutely right. Though it can certainly be…unsettling.”

Emily smiles. “My mom always says that if you’re not uncomfortable, you’re doing something wrong. Of course, she’s also, like, the _most_ protective person in the world, but I also kinda think she’s right sometimes.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” Aubrey says. She scoffs and shakes her head. “My dad said that all the time…while drinking himself to a stupor every day.”

Emily cringes. “Oh…sorry, that sounds…awful.”

“No, you’re right. People never truly have it all figured out. But…we just have to try, I guess. I was…so comfortable with my black and white world until I met Stacie, but now…I don’t know. I feel like I’m learning to see with new eyes, and I’m still getting used to the light.”

“Like that cave metaphor thing?”

“Yes,” Aubrey chuckles. “Plato’s allegory of the cave. I didn’t think of that, but that’s exactly it. You know, once Stacie has time to warm up to you, I think you two will get along really well. I can’t promise she’ll want to take on a protégé, but…you never know what kind of change might come along, right?”

“No, I guess not,” Emily says with a bright grin. “I... I’m going to do my best! We’re going to catch that guy—whatever his name is! After that, maybe you and Miss Stacie will be super impressed and you’ll both agree be my mentor.”

Aubrey laughs when Emily throws her arms in the air and dances awkwardly in a tight circle. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Stacie is asking Aubrey a question when a loud clatter behind them extinguishes the thought completely. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath—she doesn’t have to look to know where it’s coming from. Beside her, sitting in her chair with her legs crossed, Aubrey is looking far too amused. Breezy even, while Stacie is standing here feeling like she’s about to burst a blood vessel at any moment.

The kid has completely changed their dynamic, and she doesn’t like it one bit.

“Oops. I…I’m sorry.”

Stacie rubs her temple. “Emily,” she says, drawing out her name slowly, as if she were a second-grade teacher disciplining an unruly child, “while you’re here, can you _please_ keep you hands to yourself. I will _break_ you if you break anything.” She mutters the last part under her breath, but it doesn’t escape Aubrey’s notice, and she smirks. Again with this smirking! No, Stacie doesn’t like this _at all_.

“Calm down,” Aubrey tells her. “The poor girl has been through enough.”

Stacie turns back to look at Emily, who is standing over a toppled box of files she must’ve knocked over with a nervous smile. They’ve been reviewing everything they knew for almost forty-five minutes now and to Emily’s credit, she’s managed to keep any inane questions at bay. Her only crime, as far as Stacie will admit, is the unfiltered sound effects—the gasps and wows and not-so-quiet omigods—that seem to bounce around the room every few seconds. That, and the excited squeal when Stacie projected Beca’s captured footage above them. And now the pile of crap she’s knocked to the floor.

The truth is that she doesn’t quite know why Emily is testing her patience. Upstairs, the promise to let her shadow was an easy one to make, but now, with the video paused above them, a whole array of unexplored truths at her fingertips, she’s reminded of the looming sense of urgency and Beca’s sacrifice. Emily’s barely suppressed excitement doesn’t feel right. Every time she has a question—no matter how pertinent it may be to understanding the footage—it feels like a minute lost.

Maybe it’s Aubrey’s infinite patience with Emily. Or the irritation of being watched so intensely in a setting where they were usually alone.

And, if Stacie allowed herself a moment to dwell in her own vulnerability, she may also admit that the closer they get to the answer they’ve been searching for, the fewer minutes she has left with Aubrey. The thought twists and pulls at her insides, but it’s a truth she’s been carrying on her shoulders since the beginning. By now, she should’ve developed the strength to hold herself up and save herself from being crushed. Should’ve, but hasn’t.

After all, Aubrey must know what’s coming, right?

She can feel Aubrey’s eyes on her now, and she wonders what she’s thinking as she awaits her response. Is she eagerly waiting for the end? Or does Aubrey want to kiss her as bad as _she_ does right now?

Stacie shakes her head and lightly berates herself from derailing so quickly and so completely. “Just clean it up and stay out of trouble,” Stacie sighs. She looks back at Aubrey. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“You asked if I’m cold,” Aubrey replies. She’s still smiling, and it’s soft this time, sympathetic perhaps. It’s so soft it’s almost affectionate, and Stacie’s heart skips a beat. She feels the quirk of her own lip, even through the annoyance she feels for Emily. “I said I’m okay. This sweater is quite warm.”

“Oh. Well. It looks good on you,” Stacie says. “You can keep it.”

“Hm, maybe,” Aubrey replies quietly. And Stacie melts a little when Aubrey’s smile turns unexpectedly shy. The moment their eyes lock directly, the air is electrified. Stacie’s heart rate picks up as the butterflies inside take flight.

But when she catches a blur of movement from her peripheral, Aubrey turns toward it, and the moment cools. “What are you doing?” Aubrey says. Stacie inhales, then follows her gaze, where it lands on Emily staring pointedly up at the ceiling, head moving from side to side.

“Oh, uh, nothing?” Emily says, eyes glued to whatever she is staring at up there. “You guys seemed like you were going to kiss, so, uh…”

Aubrey laughs, and it’s dry, bordering nervous without her usual confidence or sarcasm. She looks up at the paused video, avoiding Stacie’s direction.

“Seriously?” Stacie grumbles.

Emily drops her gaze back to Stacie’s scowl, then to Aubrey’s pink cheeks as she runs a hand through her hair, eyes still glued to the footage above. “O-oh, god, I didn’t look away because—um, I was just…trying to give you some privacy?” Emily says, cowering slightly as she takes a step back. “I—it’s not what it sounds like—I totally love that you guys are, uh…I mean, I love the gays—oh, fudge, Emily, that’s _terrible_ —I mean,” she pumps a fist with forced enthusiasm, “love is love?”

Aubrey covers her eyes, despite her back still turned to Emily, and laughs quietly.

Even Stacie, who shakes her head with a low “For fuck’s sakes, kid,” can’t help but find amusement in the poor girl’s struggle. “Let’s move on,” she says mercifully.

Things continue to feel a little off as they continue examining the footage, at least for Stacie, who is inexplicably hyper-aware of every movement, every pulse in the room. She has a feeling, whenever she catches Aubrey watching her and looking away, that she isn’t alone. It feels almost childish, but she can’t stop her hope from bubbling and growing until she can no longer fit it inside her. She’s almost thankful suddenly for Emily and the way excitement takes over any semblance of self-control the energetic kid has. Distracting as she found it at first, it’s now a wonderful buffer to distract her from all the untimely emotions roiling inside her.

Eventually, the quiet discussion, interspersed by Emily’s many questions and theories, lead them back into their rhythm. Back to themselves.

“These guns,” Stacie says, homing in on a paused still of one of Eddie’s men. “This isn’t the kind of firepower civilians can get their hands on.” She’s standing, arms folded, as she looks up at the image.

“Omigosh, is this a government conspiracy? Like, is the military involved?” Emily chimes in, directly behind them now as she scribbles something into a spiral notebook Stacie gave her half an hour ago to shut her up. “I mean, how can you tell?”

“Cole isn’t big enough to be a part of a government conspiracy, nor does he have enough friends in the business, as far as we know,” Aubrey explains, “but just because you can’t buy a gun like that from Wal-Mart, it doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to access them.”

“There’s bound to be runners all over the underground,” Stacie adds. “My issue is the price point. This is an expensive gun—high demand, and really, kind of overkill for someone like Eddie.”

“Unless they were prepared for someone like Beca.”

“Yes—exactly. Given the uniform, we know they were expecting someone to save Chloe like we did on the night Henry died. This means they’re vaguely aware of Beca’s existence, and they were trying to draw our attention with bait. Unfortunately, I don’t think Emily was the first victim. I don’t think they entirely knew when Beca would come, otherwise they’d likely display her somewhere slightly more visible.”

“I agree. Unless they expected Beca to have x-ray vision, there might be another purpose to these girls.” Aubrey frowns. “I just hope the other victim or victims are still alive.”

“Me too. Emily, do you know if anyone went missing while you were there?”

Emily shakes her head. “Um, I don’t know. There were so many girls, and—and I just assumed the turnover rate was really high. I…uh, the people I talk to have all been there for at least a couple of months though?”

“They’re probably only targeting the vulnerable,” Aubrey mutters. “The bastards.”

“Yeah…we’ll get back to that. I’m certain Cole is backing Eddie in all of this, but second question is: who planted the bomb?” Stacie pulls up an article and throws it up on the screen. It’s dated approximately two hours after Beca got out of there, and it features an image of fire and smoke swallowing the building while. “The timing of this explosion was impeccable,” Stacie continues. “It’s no exaggeration to say that it probably saved Beca’s life too.”

Aubrey stands, then fast-forwards the footage until she lands on the back alley—outside. To the left, Emily’s hair is mid-sway. She checks each frame, following the glasses’ ascent when the explosion hit to the moment it clattered to the concrete, abruptly cutting off the footage. “We can’t see much, but I’m going to guess it’s some kind of high-order explosive.”

“The fire and the explosion aren’t necessarily linked,” Stacie mumbles in thought. “But they have to be deliberate. The timing is too perfect. So…who and why?”

“Oh, oh!” Emily says suddenly, bouncing on the balls of her feet and raising her hand like she expects a gold star on her report card. “I have a theory!” She practically shouts the last part, and it makes both Stacie and Aubrey flinch.

“I’m sorry,” Emily says. “Was that…too loud? When I’m excited, I’m just—ah.” When it seemed like she was about to go on another rant, Aubrey gives her a look, and she blushes, pulling an invisible zipper across her mouth and ducking her head. The way Emily seems to respond to Aubrey—Stacie briefly wonders not for the first time if she should be jealous. But she isn’t. She’s as much in love with Aubrey’s commanding side as her gentleness, and with Emily, she gives both so freely. This nurturing, thoughtful side of her, she decides, is far too sexy to inspire any true jealousy.

“It’s fine,” she hears Aubrey tell her softly. “Stace, Emily has a theory,” Aubrey chuckles, earning a wry, exasperated smile from Stacie. Aubrey shrugs. Give her a chance, she mouths. Stacie drops her hands by her sides. Why Aubrey is so taken with Little Miss Nancy Drew, she will never know. What she _does_ know is that she can’t find it in her heart to deny her anything when she turns those big, beautiful eyes up at her like that. God, she’s turning into Beca.

“Yes,” Stacie repeats in resignation, motioning at Emily. “Emily has a theory.”

“Oh!” Emily glances around flushing terribly at the sudden spotlight cast on her. She’s a deer-in-the-headlights as she looks over at Stacie. “Um, yeah.” She’s fiddling with the corner of her notebook. “I think…uh—I think…” Her eyes goes back to Aubrey, who gives her an encouraging smile that she slowly mimics. Finally, she takes a deep breath and starts over. “I think the explosion might be some kind of distraction. A deliberate one. Or—or, um, it was actually mistimed. M-maybe both. Like, the bomb could have been set up, but maybe it was detonated early for some reason.”

“Oh my god,” Stacie breathes. She’s the first to admit she doesn’t have a lot of faith in the clumsy kid, but the answer sparks an enthusiastic “Yes!” before she can remember to be annoyed with her, and a sudden, inexplicable sense of pride fills her chest as she holds up a hand. Emily beams and it’s adorable when she practically leaps for the high five. “Exactly my line of thinking,” Stacie says, grinning. “You’re brighter than I gave you credit for. A lot of potential here.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Now, see if you can prove it’s not just a lucky guess.”

Emily straightens and gives Stacie a nod. “R-right. Um, the explosion could be a way to cover up their shady business since all of you guys found out about, uh, me, I guess? Or even other girls like me. With…so many bad things happening in this place, maybe they wanted to destroy evidence? Like, guns, and stuff, based on what you told me. I-if people are looking for him too…that would be…a pretty convenient way to throw people off his trail. That’s why, um…t-that’s why there’s the fire, I think?”

Stacie nods, then cycles back to the article she pulled up earlier. “A definite possibility.”

“I agree, again Emily might not be the first to be used as bait,” Aubrey adds with a frown. “Considering the timeline of events, there was likely at least one other victim. But,” she sighs, “I know we don’t have a lot of time to focus on that right now, but there are definitely things they don’t want people to see.” It’s still bothering her, Stacie realizes with an ache in her chest. She wants to take her hand and tell her it’s okay—after all of this, they can no doubt find justice for any missing girls. But to offer that would be exposing how much she wants her to stay, and Stacie isn’t ready to face this. Isn’t ready to delay losing her.

Aubrey is standing just out of reach, so she simply swallows and moves on.

“Right,” Stacie murmurs, running a shaky hand through her hair. She turns to Emily. “And the mistiming?”

Emily furrows her brow. “I…I don’t know. Maybe…maybe they’d planned something, but something went wrong. Like…even with the fancy guns, maybe they didn’t expect Miss Beca to take down so many people so quickly.”

“Yes,” Stacie thinks out loud as she drums her fingers on her crossed arms. “In most situations where something cannot be logically explained, it’s likely something did not go according to plan. Even with the most empathetic rationale, the majority of human imagination is too limited and our arrogance too great to simply ignore the effects of chaos. Even the best laid plans aren’t impervious to Murphy’s Law.”

Emily shoots Aubrey a confused look. “In this case,” Aubrey explains with a small smile, “I think Stacie is saying that you’re on the right track, Emily. They underestimated Beca and overestimated their firepower.”

“Woah,” Emily breathes, her eyes darting rapidly between Stacie and Aubrey.

Stacie flashes Aubrey a lop-sided grin. “You really get me,” she tells her, hope fluttering loudly once more.

“Hm,” is all Aubrey says, but she is neither angry nor annoyed. Instead, she brushes back a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, revealing the pinkish tip, and doesn’t meet her eyes.

God, she is beautiful, Stacie’s heart sings.

But this isn’t the time or place, so she tears her gaze from Aubrey’s face and quickly busies herself with transferring the data to her laptop. “I think we should continue this discussion upstairs,” she explains as she’s typing away. “We can fill Beca and Chloe in, then figure out the next step from there.”

“You didn’t tell us where you think Cole is hiding,” Aubrey says, raising a brow that goes unnoticed.

“No, but…you probably already know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” Stacie chuckles.

“Maybe. I have a few theories.”

“If we have any matching theories, do I get a prize?”

“You get to be right,” Aubrey says drily.

“Ooh, confident, are we? Then again, you haven’t been completely wrong _yet_ when it comes to this man. I wouldn’t be that confident about anything else.”

“Shut up.”

Stacie laughs. “Well, whatever your theories are, we can share them upstairs. Beca will probably have a few opinions of her own.”

“You know, _you’re_ not always right either,” Aubrey huffs. “You cover all your bases with your assumptions and your hypotheses, but you…”

A sudden _splat_ behind them draw their attention to Emily, who quickly stoops down to pick up her fallen notebook from the floor with a sheepish laugh. “Sorry,” she mumbles. She doesn’t admit that she was so fascinated by their exchange—a simple, yet coded dialogue only they seemed to understand—that her notebook slipped out of her hands.

“Never mind,” Aubrey says, crossing her arms as she frowns at Stacie.

Stacie stops typing just long enough to give Aubrey a steady look. “To be continued,” she says simply.

Emily shrinks a few steps backwards, hiding behind the notebook for feeble protection and hoping to anyone listening that she didn’t break them up somehow. Not when she _just_ found herself two mentors and a favourite crime-fighting couple.

Finally, Stacie slams down the lid of her laptop, and the projections flicker off. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

Emily hasn’t seen Beca since the car ride, and after seeing the footage, she isn’t quite sure how to face her. The woman risked a lot to save her—a person she doesn’t even know.

She isn’t surprised when Chloe’s smile immediately falls when their eyes meet. Instinctively, Emily ducks behind Aubrey, then lingers awkwardly around the door when Aubrey walks straight to Chloe to give her a one-armed hug, leaving her exposed.

Stacie greets Chloe, who is sitting on the edge of Beca’s bed, feeding her leftover soup. Beca frowns, clearly embarrassed as her eyes flicker between Chloe and Stacie, but Stacie only grins. “Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Stacie teases.

“Shut up,” Beca mumbles. “I can’t lift my arm that high, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Stacie hums. She sits down on the carpet with the laptop resting on her knees, while Aubrey sits on the desk chair. This leaves Emily standing awkward and alone, still by the door and many steps away from Stacie and Aubrey, feeling very much like a fifth wheel.

“Hey, Emily,” Beca says with a small smile. “Settling in okay?”

Emily nods, perhaps too eagerly, but doesn’t know what to say. So, she simply fidgets with her sleeve and tries her best to tamp down the excitement of seeing all her heroes in one room.

Aubrey, mercifully, tilts her head, beckoning her a little closer, where Stacie, following Aubrey’s cue, pats the space beside her.

“How are you feeling, Beca?” Aubrey asks.

Beca’s eyes are on the side of Chloe’s face when she replies, “Better.” Chloe, as if she could tangibly feel her affection, meets her gaze with a broad smile.

Stacie and Aubrey exchange a glance, and something passes between them. There was neither joy or despair, or even surprise for that matter. Only a shared, wary kind of trepidation that runs through the four of them.

Emily doesn’t know what is going on, but the air in the room seems to shift. She recalls Aubrey’s sentiment about Beca and Chloe’s relationship—neither good nor bad. Just complicated. But when she watches them now, all she sees is joy. Beca’s bandages aside, Chloe’s brilliant smile seems so carefree.

She would never have guessed that this woman had a million-dollar bounty on her head.

“Well, I suppose I should just get started then,” Stacie says. A black cube rolls out from the palm of her hand and onto the carpet, where an orange light promptly shoots up above Stacie’s head and fans out to display a translucent projection of Stacie’s laptop. “Here’s where we’re at: I’ve reviewed the footage, satellites, and CCTV surrounding Blackstone, and the three of us have come up with a few conclusions. We’re gonna catch you two up to speed, then figure out the next move.”

“Okay. Do you want any more?” Chloe asks Beca sweetly, holding out the bowl of soup.

Beca shakes her head. “Maybe later?”

Chloe puts the bowl of soup down on Beca’s desk, next to a small stack of books. “I’ll make something fresh for you later,” she says, planting a quick kiss to the side of Beca’s head.

“Thanks,” Beca mumbles with an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah, hey, guys? We’re still here,” Stacie says with a thoroughly amused expression on her face. “Still, you know, figuring out where Cole is, and figuring out how to save Chloe’s life? I mean, only if you aren’t too busy or anything.”

“Maybe reserve the PDA for after the meeting,” Aubrey says with a smirk.

“Oops, sorry,” Chloe says, though she’s grabbing Beca’s arm and lacing their fingers together anyway. Stacie raises a brow while Aubrey shakes her head.

Emily just grins, happy to be included.

Beca clears her throat. “So,” she says slowly, “did you find him?”

“Aubrey and I have our theories,” Stacie replies, “but we’ll get to that. Here is what we know so far. First, I checked satellite and CCTV for footage of the last week. As Blackstone is a club—people come and go all the time, so it wasn’t particularly helpful. Second, we don’t think Emily was the first victim to be used as bait, nor are we conclusive that Emily is _supposed_ to be bait. Given the number of available candidates dressed up as Chloe, it’s likely there has been at least one or two others. Purpose of their capture unknown without any evidence.”

“If that’s the case, then they’d be in situations similar to Emily—new to the city or similarly isolated. Possibly from vulnerable sectors,” Aubrey explains with a hard look in her eyes. “All signs of a possible trafficking ring, though the methods aren’t very traditional. Typical recruitment can take weeks if not months, so someone must’ve been in a hurry. Kidnapping poses a high risk, after all, which is unusual for Cole.”

“But is perfectly within Eddie’s range of villainy,” Stacie says. “This tells us he’s likely working with Cole, and he’s somehow earned Cole’s trust. Or Georgie is getting desperate.”

She then pulls up a still of the woman who offered Beca a drink, and Chloe immediately scowls.

“That bitch,” she growls.

“Is Florencia Fuentes,” Stacie says with a quirk of her brow. “Raised by a handful of hardcore guerrilla soldiers during the Guatemalan Civil War, then trafficked out here to run guns and provide security to major drug rings. All rumours, of course—no one really knows much about her. They say she’s ruthless and refuses to accommodate even to the highest paying clients. No surprise to see her out here, I suppose.”

“So… that means that place was probably crawling with mercs,” Beca says, setting her jaw tightly.

“I _knew_ that woman looked like bad news,” Chloe huffs.

“Exactly,” Stacie says. “It’s the most obvious set-up of the century, and we don’t know if he entirely suspected Beca to come. However, he may be vaguely aware of Beca’s capabilities after our last job. The only thing we know for sure is that he knows what Beca looks like because plenty of people saw her rescue Chloe. If Florencia Fuentes is on his payroll, she might have been the whistleblower on Beca, and the friends she mentioned? Likely other mercs.”

“What does that mean?” Beca says uneasily.

“Well, at first, I thought he meant for you to find Emily, but it doesn’t make sense unless he knew you could see through walls. It’s hard to tell when we know next to nothing about other possible victims. So, my best guess is that he’s been trying to lure us out for a while now but hasn’t found a good way to do it.”

“So, he _wasn’t_ expecting Beca?” Chloe says, furrowing her brows.

“Yes and no. Because…Emily?” Stacie nudges her.

Emily, who had been listening intently, snaps to attention when she suddenly finds four pairs of eyes on her. “Uh,” she croaks. Her hands feel like they’re soaking through the pages of her notebook.

Stacie gestures for her to hurry up.

“The—uh. They…weren’t expecting Beca…but they were…because—because, um—oh!” Emily’s eyes widen. “Omigosh—because the explosion was mistimed!”

“Bingo,” Stacie says, ruffling Emily’s hair. Beca raises a brow at the interaction but doesn’t comment.

“Assuming he misjudged the situation and did not expect Beca to get out that fast, it’s still a bit strange. I mean…armed with expensive tactical firearms, it seems rather unnecessary to blow up his own establishment too,” Aubrey says with a frown. “Someone else could have set off the bomb.”

“That’s a possibility, of course, but,” Stacie says gravely, “what if Beca wasn’t his only target? What if she was just the cherry on top of his plan?” Stacie projects the article on the explosion once more and enlarges several words in the headline: “12 DEAD, HUNDREDS INJURED.” She then pushes the words into a corner and pulls up a blueprint of the building. “Eddie and his goons aren’t well known enough to be featured, but I checked the extra footage I took, and I found something pretty unusual.” She overlays a heavily pixelated satellite image of the building on top of the blueprints. “At the time of the explosion, Beca was standing here.”

A bold, red circle appears on the map.

“The force of the explosion was close enough to propel Beca forward about thirty feet this way.” Stacie draws an arrow. “This means that the explosion itself must’ve occurred here,” she says, pointing. “ _Behind_ Beca.”

“Where Eddie was,” Aubrey says, nodding slowly.

“Luckily, I had the drone circling the building and this was where I managed to capture something interesting.” Stacie shrinks the blueprint and satellite image and stacks it neatly below the newspaper headline on the side. On the main space, she pulls up a high-definition photo of the Blackstone’s roof, then cycles through several similar pictures. The spark of an explosion, hidden in the far corner of the image, soon grows into a full-blown explosion. The drone moves closer and closer to it with each picture, but it doesn’t get close enough to see the people below. “At the time of this picture,” Stacie explains, pointing to the rightmost corner, “Beca is just off to the side here, approximately thirty feet away from the point of impact.”

The drone moves closer still, and they catch a glimpse of several bodies dressed in black laying on the floor. “Eddie and his men. They were far closer to the point of combustion than Beca was, and in the middle of the confusion, it would’ve taken some time to find them. The firefighters arrived approximately twenty minutes in but take a look at what happens before then.”

Stacie scrolls through several more images. Though still partially obscured by the roof and the flames, they see it, clear as day.

Several people obscured from head to toe in silver fireproof suits walk out from the back of the building. In the next photo, they’re picking up the bodies. The one after that, they’re carrying them back _into_ the flaming building.

“What the fuck?” Beca whispers, sitting up and wincing when the pain in her shoulder throbs.

“Oh…no…” Chloe gasps.

“Oh my god,” Aubrey says. She turns slowly toward Stacie, her knuckles white as she grips the armrest. “Oh my god,” she repeats under her breath. “He’s…he’s still there. He’s been there the whole time!”

Stacie’s eyes roam the article and the pictures above her. “That’s what I think,” she says with the kind of heaviness that fills the room. “It’s the perfect cover for hiding in plain sight. Even better when it technically no longer exists. Even, _even_ better if he can take Beca _and_ ticking time bombs like Eddie Choi and Florencia Fuentes out of the game.”

“Of course,” Aubrey mumbles, “I…I suspected it, but it’s…”

“Almost ridiculous to say out loud? Yeah, I agree,” Stacie says, running a hand through her hair.

Emily raises a shaking hand. “But if…if he was trying to kill Beca, then h-how does that help him find Miss Chloe?”

“He wasn’t trying to kill her,” Stacie says.

Emily gasps. “He was trying to follow her. F-follow her…here?”

Three pairs of eyes stare at Emily like she’s grown another head, but Stacie’s expression is hard, unchanging. She simply nods.

“Yes. That’s…actually what we need to talk about next,” Stacie says quietly. She stands then, steps over the cube and through the projection. Her fists are clenched as she stares hard at Beca. “We’re…we’re running out of time. We have to get to him before he gets to us. So…I have to go.”

A beat passes as a deafening silence hangs over the room.

Beca is the first to break the silence with a sharp inhale. “No,” she whispers, letting go of Chloe to pull her blankets back. With a flinch, she clutches her shoulder and struggles to her feet. “Hell no,” she says, louder this time. “Fuck. No.”

“We’ve got no choice.”

“W-what is going on?” Chloe’s eyes roam across the room. From Stacie’s resigned smile to the confusion on both Aubrey and Emily’s face, settling ultimately on the _fury_ in Beca’s eyes.

“Look,” Stacie says, running a hand down her face, “we’re sitting ducks out here. Just because I didn’t find bugs, it doesn’t mean we aren’t being watched as we speak. There’s no way of making sure you weren’t followed, and we don’t even know if Emily is compromised. I like you, kid,” she pauses to give Emily a small smile, “but I don’t trust what they could’ve done to you, and we don’t have time to confirm anything. I just…can’t guarantee our safety out here. Not with god knows how many people after the money.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna charge in there like some fucking superhero?” Beca yells, thrusting her good arm out for emphasis. “You’re _not_ a superhero, Stacie. You don’t even have your goddamn glasses! And—and you promised! You promised— _I_ promised—you’re _not_ going out there. You’re _never_ going into the field again!”

“It’s do or die, Beca, him or us,” Stacie says calmly. “I said we’d talk, but this isn’t up for discussion.”

“There _has_ to be another way!” Beca’s voice cracks a little. “I’m…I might not be as smart as you, but let me…let me find another way. Please, Stace.”

“We can’t barricade ourselves in here forever. We don’t have the firepower to fight off a thousand mercs. And I’m not putting our lives in the line on the off-chance that they’re too stupid to follow Cole’s trail.”

“N-no…” Beca turns to the rest of the women in the group. “S-say something, you guys,” she quietly pleads. Emily stares at the carpet. Chloe opens her mouth and closes it, again and again.

Aubrey looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“It’s decided then,” Stacie says, picking up her laptop and projector from the carpet. “You guys pack up and head to the bunker—It’ll be safer out there. We’ve already lost a day figuring all of this out. I’ll set out tonight.”

“Stacie,” Beca whispers, her eyes shimmering now with unshed tears. “You can’t go alone. I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll just get us both killed, you idiot,” Stacie says, shaking her head. “Just get to the bunker.”

“I’m not going to fucking—”

Stacie’s eyes flash dangerously. “ _Go_. Or you’re putting all of us in danger. _Especially_ Chloe. I made my choice—you can all make yours.”

“Fine,” Beca mutters, her fists clenched tight, “but we will be on comms. Like I said, you’re _not_ going to be alone. I’m gonna fucking kick your ass if you get hurt.”

Stacie chuckles drily. “Looking forward to it.”

“Hold on—you can’t—Beca, you’re just going to let her—" Aubrey pushes herself out of her chair. The paleness is gone, replaced by slowly reddening anger. “This is unacceptable! This plan is—it’s ludicrous! It’s barely a plan!”

“Aubrey, I don’t want to fight you right now. I’ve already made up my mind,” Stacie says calmly.

Aubrey grabs her by the arm. “ _Listen_ —”

“No,” Stacie snaps this time, tugging her arm back forcefully, “ _You_ listen. They’re coming, whether we like it or not, and I’m _not_ going to waste more time talking about this.”

She stomps out of the room, her footsteps leaving a trail of cold fear in its wake. Aubrey doesn’t move. Her hand is still out, empty, and when she turns to look at Beca, her eyes are still mirroring the flames.

* * *

Stacie is standing in front of the mirror, frowning at the outfit she hasn’t worn in many years. Her black tank top is slightly cropped, and the black khakis are snug, but rose above her ankles. After all these years, seeing this outfit again still gives her an unpleasant twist in her gut. The last time she wore clothes like this, the black fabric had been dyed crimson, and Sofia…

She shakes her head. If she goes down that lane now, she’ll definitely lose her nerve.

She’s pulling on a black leather glove when a sudden force shoves her against her closet door. She catches herself against the wall and stumbles, bewildered, but launches into combat mode, fists raised and ready to fight.

Until she sees Aubrey there, breathing heavily and glaring at her with every fibre of her being. “You _goddamn_ idiot,” she growls.

Stacie lowers her arms slowly. “What is going—”

“You! I’m _not_ done with you,” Aubrey nearly shouts as she jabs a finger into Stacie’s shoulder. Stacie’s eyes wide—she’s never seen her so angry before, and she’s done plenty to provoke her. “How _dare_ you?”

“Wha—”

“How dare you and your _fucking_ arrogance? What gives you the _right_ to decide _anything_ on your own? What makes you think you have _any_ say about what Chloe and I are supposed to think? Even Emily for that matter!” Aubrey jabs her at every emphasis, and Stacie flinches. Her shoulder is going to bruise tomorrow if she survives tonight. Hell, if she even survives this interaction.

“Jesus Christ, Aubrey, calm _the fuck_ down!”

“ _No_ , I will not!” Aubrey growls between clenched teeth. “I’m entitled to my anger because _you_ are putting all of our lives on the line like this is some kind of game.”

“ _Excuse_ me? Which part of any of this sounds like a game to you?” Stacie says, glaring back.

Aubrey lifts her chin. “I bet you can’t even fight, and you’re gambling your life away just to play at being a hero.”

“A-are you _testing_ me?”

Without warning, Aubrey leaps forward with a kick aimed at her chest, only to be blocked by Stacie’s last-minute reflexes. Her stomach twists—Aubrey is _fast_ and _her_ reflexes definitely aren’t what they used to be.

“Are you _serious_? I told you I’m not fighting you, Aubrey!” Stacie cried, deftly dodging a follow-up kick and ducking out of her corner in one smooth movement. “Jesus, you know taekwondo?”

But Aubrey doesn’t stop. She throws a punch that barely misses her head, then steps in with an elbow strike—Stacie throws her arms up just in time. “I know a lot of things,” Aubrey says, retracting her arm, her eyes burning. “I was in the army. A federal agent. Yet, you _constantly_ underestimate me. The only thing you trust are your own goddamn theories!”

Stacie steps back when Aubrey takes a step forward, raising her fists slightly to prepare for the next strike. “I’ve never—” Two words in, and Aubrey cuts her off with quick blow to the stomach that knocks the air out of her chest—Stacie staggers back, warding off a subsequent kick with the back of her hand. “Stop this,” she growls. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“See?” Aubrey says, blowing a tuft of hair out of her eyes as she loosens her shoulders to position herself for the next attack. “How dare you even try to deny it? The fact that you even _think_ you can hurt me...”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Stacie shouts, tempers flaring now when Aubrey lunges at her for the third time. She ducks, jumps back. Her footwork is messier than it used to be—she’s out of practice and her heart is hammering because as angry as Aubrey is, the way she moves is pure poetry. She yelps, leaping back just in time to avoid a sweep—if only she isn’t on the receiving end of her wrath.

“Oh, you want to talk about _ridiculous_?” Aubrey says, breathing heavily now. “What’s _ridiculous_ is your god,” she lands a strike to Stacie’s shoulder and pushes her back against the wall, “damn,” her forearm digs into her sternum, pinning her in place, “ego.” Her lips pull into a triumphant smirk, and Stacie is completely and utterly defeated.

She’s so close she can see the flecks in Aubrey’s eyes, can smell the lingering scent of her shampoo, can hear and feel the beating of her heart against her own, can almost—she closes her eyes and tries not to imagine the taste.

Aubrey drops her arm, but she doesn’t move away.

“God, you are such an idiot.”

Her eyes fly open when Aubrey grabs her face in both hands and kisses her long and hard, bruising and angry, channeling everything she can’t say into Stacie’s very soul. A firestorm and a hurricane—its how Stacie has always imagined they would be. Her fingers claw at Aubrey’s back—her lungs begging for air but her head and heart begging to be closer still. Her imagination was wrong. Aubrey is a firestorm inside a hurricane, and Stacie is a lone tree, uprooted and snapped in half, whirling inside the vortex, desperate to be smashed into smithereens.

Stacie moans.

Everything is so hot.

When Aubrey finally pulls away, she’s breathing hard and her eyes are dark as they look up into Stacie’s. The raw desire, the audacity, then the smirk—it’s almost too much. The extra heat pools into Stacie’s centre, and she doesn’t trust her knees not to give out.

“You always underestimate me,” Aubrey says, her voice low and dripping with danger as her hands travel down Stacie’s chest, past her exposed stomach, and to the zipper of her pants. “You think you know me—think you can decide my fate for me with your inane _hypotheses_.” She holds her eyes as she pulls her zipper down. “You assume you’re the only one hungry.” Stacie takes a sharp breath when Aubrey’s lips caresses the corner of her jaw, her breath hot against her ear as she continues to speak. “The only one wanting.”

“Aubrey…you…” Stacie can’t stifle the whimper when Aubrey dips the tips of her fingers into the waistband of her underwear.

It takes all the strength she can muster to grab her wrist.

Aubrey looks up with a frown.

“You have every right to be angry,” Stacie says with a small, resigned smile. “You’re right—of course you’re right—but I don’t…I don’t want you to regret—”

Aubrey pulls at the elastic of Stacie’s underwear and lets it snap back against her skin. Stacie yelps, but the rest of her words leave her when Aubrey flashes a dangerous smile. The anger isn’t completely gone, only transformed. “No. You don’t _get_ to keep telling me what you want and walking away. This is about what _I_ want now. And _I_ want two things.”

“W-what?”

“First,” she says, one hand inching back into Stacie’s pants while the other slowly drives her insane as it caressed the bare skin of her hip, “I’m going with you, and you’re not going to stop me.”

“With…me?” It takes her hazy mind a moment to understand, a moment that Aubrey allows. When realization strikes, Stacie moves to push her away, but Aubrey’s faster, stronger, when the hand on her hip abandons its task to pin her down by the shoulder. “Aubrey, you can’t—”

But Aubrey isn’t listening. Her eyes are focused, dark with pure desire while her lips part, close enough to Stacie’s to whisper the words directly into them. “The second thing I want…is to take you right here,” she smirks, “I want to hear you lose itself in my name, over and over, and if you won’t give me what I want,” her fingers slide further south achingly slow toward the throbbing heat, “you better stop me now.”

She tries to hold onto that first request, tries to ground herself in their reality, but all she can see, hear, touch, and feel is Aubrey and the crying ache of her pent-up desires. She pulls her closer to the edge with every passing moment, and _god,_ she loves this side of her.

All reason shatters.

“Please,” she begs.

Her entire body shivers and sighs when Aubrey finally touches her. And she’s almost embarrassed when Aubrey looks at her, her expression unexpectedly soft when she comments, “You’re really…”

Stacie lets out a breathy chuckle as she buries her fingers into Aubrey’s hair. “In love with you? Yeah.”

“Fuck,” is all Aubrey whispers when she pulls Stacie’s head down once more and kisses her—tender this time, almost sweet, juxtaposed with the force with which she enters her. And Stacie gasps, tightening her hold on Aubrey’s hair as she holds on for dear life. A tongue runs along her lower lip—she feels the pressure build, wants to kiss her back, but every nerve feels like it’s coming alive as she curls into Aubrey, breaking the kiss to scrape her teeth against Aubrey’s neck because she can still feel the anger in every thrust. The aggression and the frustration and everything else these last two weeks have put her through. But she feels Aubrey’s lips on her neck too, soft—like her skin is some precious thing—and revering—like she’s the only thing that matters.

She gives Aubrey what she wants and loses herself in her name, the word overflowing through parted lips.

As Aubrey takes her higher and higher on the rails of fire and ice, Stacie is broken and made whole, made new over and over until she can no longer recognize the ghosts that have been with her since the beginning of her history.

Aubrey holds her as she comes down, props her up when her knees start to give way, kisses her when she starts to open her eyes, runs her fingers through her hair when she inexplicably starts to cry, and whispers “I got you” until she’s able to catch her breath.

“Did I hurt you?” Aubrey says softly.

Stacie shakes her head, sniffles a little, and buries her face in Aubrey’s shoulder.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I…I don’t know,” Stacie mumbles between breaths. “I’m just…overwhelmed, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey says, squeezing her closer against her.

“No, don’t—don’t apologize,” Stacie says against her skin. “I can’t even begin to describe everything you made me feel just now.”

Aubrey is silent for a moment. “Still,” she says tentatively, “I…may have gotten a bit carried away. I…have issues with my anger sometimes. I’m working on it. But you should know…this time, at least. I stand by it. I’m not letting you go out there by yourself, and I’m not letting you diminish my feelings for you for whatever reason. You need to stop being an idiot.”

“Aubrey…” Stacie wraps her arms around her back. She can’t remember the last time she’s felt so utterly exposed in the presence of someone other than Beca. She’s still not sure what to say—not sure she fully understands what Aubrey is saying, or whether she’s simply delirious from the high of having her soul torn apart and stitched together so beautifully.

Aubrey sighs. “You’re still doubting me,” she says, pulling back to look her in the eyes with a frown. Stacie blinks back, unsure what gave her away so easily. “I’m coming with you no matter what.”

“You can’t….” Stacie sighs, “please, I…I don’t want to see you get hurt—you’re too good.”

“I’m really not,” Aubrey says, rolling her eyes. “I’m distrusting and angry and I’m pretty sure Beca is more emotionally intelligent than I am. But…for whatever reason… for better or worse…I just happen to have feelings for you too. I may not be able to say it out loud right now—not the way you do it so easily—but I want to believe there’s something here, and that you…you won’t break my heart. That means I need you alive, Stacie.”

“I need you alive too,” Stacie says with a tearful grin as she leans down to kiss her.

This time, it’s Aubrey who melts. With Stacie against her, she silently begs the universe—whoever is listening—to please not take her future away this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for joining me in my final chapter of 2020. Ending on a spicy cliffhanger at that! You guys probably didn’t expect such a quick update, but hey! Neither did I! Happy early Christmas! 
> 
> Speaking of Christmas, I will be taking a brief break from this story to work on a Bechloe/Staubrey Christmas two-shot because tis the season, and I think we need something a little more sugary to end the year on, especially when this story is getting ever more intense. It’s partially why I’m posting this chapter early, so I can focus on this for the time being. If you’re interested, definitely stay tuned! You can subscribe or DM me on Twitter (@fireroastedmoo) and I’ll happily keep you in the loop. The more friends the merrier, especially in these wild times! 
> 
> Bounty will be back in 2021 with our very last Bella. Stay safe and see you guys soon! 
> 
> P.S. As always, if you enjoyed this story, please share the love! I appreciate every kudo and every comment. You guys have been so wonderful and generous with your comments—I can’t begin to thank you enough. I wish I could reply to all of them, but I find myself speechless every time. Just know that I hold each one near and dear to my heart, and once in a while I revisit them to give me the encouragement I need to keep going. You guys are truly more than I can ask for.
> 
> P.P.S. I love Flo with all my heart. Trust and believe ;)


	9. The Protocol

Jessica is in the bathroom, brushing her teeth while thinking about Stacie and Beca. It’s been several long days, with little news from Stacie aside from her short daily updates. She glances at Ashley, who’s reading a book in bed. Her brows are furrowed, pages unturned—she’s worried too.

They saw the article earlier that day—the photos of the fire looked bad; learning Beca had been in the area at the time felt worse. Cynthia Rose showed up at their doorstep by mid-morning, and Amy by early afternoon. They wrung their hands and paced the length of their apartment, but could do little more than throw each other’s helplessness around the room.

Luckily, Stacie came through with a message saying only that Beca was okay. So, they sent the girls home, despite their protests and the heaviness that hung over them the rest of the night.

At around 5 PM, there came a second message for Jessica’s eyes only. A set of instructions that has her heart beating thousands of miles per minute every time she thinks about it. She’d dropped the tongs she was cooking with onto the floor with a clatter. Her eyes ran over the words over and over when her hand clapped over her mouth, unsure how she is supposed to cage in a secret so massive.

Luckily Ashley was in the shower when the message came. None of the other girls could know how much worse the situation really was, and Jessica wasn’t allowed to tell them. She understands Stacie’s reasons, but she hates the secrecy, and she hates that she can’t share her burden. It’s as unfair to the girls as it is to her.

But mostly, she hates that it has come to this.

God, she wants to throw up. She closes her eyes and shuts out the nausea—it doesn’t help and she doesn’t want to alarm Ashley either. She’d never be able to keep a secret from her if she asked.

Instead, she swirls the water around her mouth and spits it into the sink. She focuses in on the lingering minty sensation of her toothpaste, but the rest of her itches with worry.

Suddenly, Ashley yelps in the next room, followed by a heavy thump.

Jessica’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest. “Ash?” she calls almost reflexively.

Standing at the threshold between the bedroom and their en-suite bathroom, her eyes widen at the sight of their bedroom window cracked wide open. Ashley is staring back at her with a hand to her chest, her book forgotten on her lap. Fear prickles through her, and she all but screams when a figure springs up from the foot of their bed.

Jessica smothers her mouth with a hand, her heart rate shooting through the roof before spiralling downwards in a flood of relief.

“Jesus, Lilly, use the door,” she exhales.

“Sorry,” Lilly mouths with a sheepish grin. It lasts only a moment before she whips out her device, her expression graver than Jessica has ever seen. Lilly turns to Ashley with a message loud and clear on her orange screen: “I need to talk to Jessica alone.”

Jessica blanches. “Oh no.”

* * *

In the dark cover of the night, Beca and Chloe are rustling through the forest, hands clasped tightly together, military-grade packs on their backs, with Emily trailing closely behind them. Beca’s heart is beating loudly as a sinking feeling hits her when she realizes Stacie and Aubrey are already on the highway. She looks around, painfully alert. At the moment, the earpiece is silent—everything is silent except for the rustle of their footsteps—and it’s almost oppressive when unnamed monsters lurk in every corner. She squeezes Chloe’s hand a little tighter, and ignores the dull ache in her shoulder.

Chloe squeezes back. She hasn’t spoken since Aubrey announced she was going with Stacie. In the foyer, she’d stared back at Aubrey in disbelief, but she didn’t try to stop her. Chloe understands the instinct better than anyone, and if she weren’t so weak, so unprepared, she would’ve followed Beca too. But that didn’t make the fear any less real. Aubrey has been the only constant in her life for over a decade, her best friend and confidant. The closest thing to family since her parents kicked her out of the house. Losing her would mean losing a part of her soul she can never get back, and she isn’t ready—even with Beca beside her—she isn’t ready to face a future without her. She adjusts her grip on Cotton’s cage in her free hand, and quietly attempts to maneuver it around the foliage.

Emily watches Beca and Chloe’s back as they trek through the forest. The joy on their faces only hours ago is long gone. It’s been a long and strange two days. She thinks of her simple life, where the biggest problem she had on Tuesday was whether she should text Benji soon. She misses Benji—the uncertainties she felt with him seem so trivial now. Despite the looming fear and the trepidation of each step into the darkness, there’s a guilty thrill too in being a part of something bigger. At the same time, she remembers watching Aubrey and Stacie drive away into uncertainty and fearing for these near-strangers who had so quickly taken her in under their wing. The weight that began to grow in her chest is still there—unwilling to acknowledge the possibility of the worst-case scenario.

Strangely, of all things, Emily finds herself thinking of Tara Calico, a young girl who disappeared without a trace, found only inside a mysterious Polaroid a year later. She thinks of people haunted years later by the last words they’ve ever said to her. And she wonders what they would’ve said instead if they knew what would happen to her.

The last thing she said to Stacie and Aubrey were “be safe.” It’s a little redundant.

She then finds herself thinking of her parents. She can’t remember the last words they said to her. She can’t even remember what _she_ said to _them_. What was the last thing her mother said to her sister?

Suddenly, she misses her mom more than anything else. If—when—they all make it out alive tonight, she should really call her. She has to survive—her mom wouldn’t be able to take another loss.

Beca stops so suddenly that Emily bumps into her. She panics and is about to unleash a flurry of apologies when Beca spins toward her with a finger to her lips. Chloe steps a little closer to Beca, looking around in confusion.

Don’t move, Beca mouths.

Emily shivers when a flash of fear washes over her.

Beca lets go of Chloe and reaches for the gun in her holster.

They hold their breaths and listen close.

Nothing. Something must’ve caught Beca’s attention, but neither of the other two notice a thing.

Emily is about to release a breath when a twig snaps in the distance and instinctively ducks with a yelp. She hears Beca draw a gun, and in her peripheral, she sees Chloe put Cotton’s cage down and do the same, albeit without the confidence and ease in which Beca carries herself.

Chloe’s hands are shaking and her eyes are wide. After two weeks, she is so used to her routines with Beca that it has never once occurred to her that she would have to put practice into action. She glances at Beca, who is the picture of calm as she points her gun at the emptiness before her—with the exception of a slight twitch in her upper lip. Chloe’s heart is loud in her chest. What if she can’t pull the trigger when it matters?

“Who’s there?” Beca calls.

Nobody knows what to expect, but it certainly isn’t the bang of a gunshot far away. Birds flutter frantically—Beca squints into the darkness, readjusting her grip on her gun. A sudden rustle to her left, however, immediately snags her attention, and she points and shoots without thinking. To everyone’s dread, they hear a groan somewhere in the bushes.

“Show yourselves!” Beca cries out as she motions for Chloe and Emily to get down. Emily covers her ears with a slight whimper, and Chloe wraps an arm around her despite the fear in her own eyes as they kneel down behind Beca.

“Beca? What’s happening?” Stacie asks.

“I don’t know,” Beca says through gritted teeth. “Can’t talk right now.”

Another gunshot.

“Who are you?” Beca asks, increasingly annoyed.

Finally, someone replies. “You’ve got company.” The voice is feminine, almost taunting with its sing-song quality and the slightest hint of an accent. And it somehow sounds both far away and close by.

“Who are you?” Beca repeats.

“A friend,” the voice replies. “Look to your right!”

No sooner did the voice finish speaking does Beca see a glint of something flash out of the corner of her eye. Above them—she shoots without thinking. The body falls into the foliage beyond, followed by the long shadow of a sniper rifle. “Fuck,” Beca whispers, “we’re surrounded.”

One more gunshot in the distance.

Then, silence.

“That’s the last of them,” the voice says. “For now.”

“Show yourself already!” Beca demands. She looks around, then up at the trees for any sign of this stranger’s voice, but finds only more dense darkness.

“You better keep moving—there will be more.”

“Not if I know we’re being watched. Get out here.”

“You know, I just saved your asses. A thank-you would be—”

The voice is abruptly cut off by a yelp when Beca suddenly feels herself pulled backwards. She nearly trips over Emily if it weren’t for one hand steadying her by the waist. “Beca!” echoes into the shadows as Chloe steps in front of her. Beca doesn’t have time to react. She simply blinks, catching the glint of Chloe’s gun sliding across her field of vision, then a gunshot, louder than all others.

There’s a cry of pain behind Beca, followed by a string of expletives in varying states of moaning and groaning.

When Beca finally recovers, she notices Chloe’s wide blue eyes, pale face, and smoking gun, and her arm wrapped protectively around her. Her eyes dart to Chloe’s parted lips—she can feel the light puffs of air against her skin. “A-are you okay?” Chloe asks.

“Yeah,” Beca replies. Her lips then spread into a slow grin. “Uh, did you just save my life?”

Chloe looks over at the pistol in her hand like she’s never seen it before. “Um…yes?”

A sudden gunshot into the leaves behind Beca jolts them apart. They scan the trees frantically, and still, they see nothing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice says with a laugh. “Nice shot, but you kept them alive, so I finished the job for you. You’re welcome.”

“What the hell do you want?” Beca asks the surrounding forest. “Goddammit, are you going to kill us?”

This time, something rustles in front of them. A shadow drops from a tree, and Beca raises her gun so fast that her shoulder feels like it’s tearing. But she ignores the pain, and the voice laughs again. It’s musical—inappropriately so given the circumstances—and it’s close this time. “Relax,” it says, “I would’ve killed you already if I wanted you dead.”

Out of the shadows suddenly emerges a figure. One that the three of them recognizes immediately. 

“Oh, shit, it’s you,” Beca mutters.

Chloe straightens as well, her expression instantly dark. “W-What do you want?” She asks shakily, her palms slippery against the grip of her gun.

Emily peers up from between her own fingers to see a petite woman wearing _very_ short shorts, a green tank top, and a broad smile. Her thick black hair is pulled up into a ponytail and if not for the pistol swinging from her finger, she looks ready to greet you on your first day on campus.

More importantly, she looks almost like…

“Oh, you recognize me,” she says breezily. “Girl who refused my drink,” She adds with a wink.

Florencia Fuentes.

“If you’re here for Chloe—”

“I’m not,” Florencia cuts in with a laugh, slipping her gun back into its holster. “I just want a safe place to talk.”

Beca narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“You have information I want, and I have information you want. Simple as that.”

“And…if we say no?”

Unsettlingly, she smirks when she crosses her arms. “My brother sold me for a chicken when I was nine—do you really think anything scares me anymore? Besides, we killed five? six? people together? They were all here for your girlfriend, which means we have a common enemy—that makes us friends, no?”

Beca glances at Chloe. She’s shaking a little—whether from fear or anger, she can’t tell.

“Hey, you don’t have to like me,” Florencia says with a shrug. “But the longer we stand here, the more danger we will be in.”

Beca’s earpiece crackles then, and it’s a relief because none of her options seem particularly appealing. “Beca, what’s going on?” Stacie says. Her voice is firmer this time, concerned.

“Florencia Fuentes is here,” Beca replies, loud enough for the subject herself to hear.

The mysterious assassin just waves.

“What does she want?” It’s Aubrey, her voice as tight as Stacie’s. 

“Information,” Beca replies.

“Hey, I’d love to stay and chat, but we’re running out of time,” Florencia says, tapping her bare wrist with a finger for emphasis. “Either you take me with you and we help each other out, or I’m taking off. I’ve been working with Cole for almost two weeks now—a lot of good information—could save some lives. But _eh_ , it’s your choice.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Beca mutters.

* * *

Beca triple checks the locks and latches on the solid steel door—a wide and heavy cold-war era contraption built to withstand an atomic blast—then turns to survey the rest of her new motley crew. They’re looking around in awe of the surprisingly spacious tunnel, lit with exposed bulbs along the length of the ceiling. They’re deep underground, and the air is musty, but the floors are paved out with slate and the walls are painted over with a clean white. There are rows of padlocked steel boxes along both sides, and here, Beca motions for everyone to sit.

“It’s nice down here,” Florencia says approvingly. “Reminds me of the tunnels my sisters and I tried to escape through when we were twelve—we were caught and brutally punished, of course, but I don’t know—it makes me a little nostalgic.”

Chloe and Emily glance at each other with mildly horrified expressions, but say nothing.

Beca frowns as she pulls a blanket out of her backpack to hand to Chloe. “Dude, what’s your deal?” she says. “If you’re working for Cole, why didn’t you just kill us?”

“Uh, no,” she replies, crossing her arms with a huff, “the only person _I_ work for is myself. Playing on Cole’s side served my purpose. Killing you would not.”

Beca takes a seat on a box across from where the stranger sits, cross-legged and completely, unsettlingly, at ease. She feels Chloe scoot a little closer against her, wrapped up adorably in her blanket, and she takes her hand, taking the moment to flash her a small, comforting smile, before turning back to the other woman. “What do you want, Florencia?”

Her brows shoot up and she grins. “Oh, you know who I am? I see I’m at a disadvantage after all. You can call me Flo.”

Beca scowls. “We aren’t friends.”

Flo puts a hand to her heart. “Ouch,” she says playfully. “Even after I came all this way.”

“How did you know where we are?”

“Oh, everyone and their mothers know where you live now,” Flo says, waving a hand. “You are lucky I made it here first. This one,” she points at Emily, “they made her swallow a tracker. They were going to post a footage of her to draw your attention, but you beat them to it. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m certainly impressed.”

“Did you…know who I was when you saw me at Blackstone?”

“Oh yes—I saw the sketch of you, and you are infamous, of course—an urban legend. You are much smaller in person. And much prettier,” she adds with a wink. Chloe frowns, tightening her hold around Beca. Flo smirks and blows her a kiss before going on: “I approached you hoping I could entice you into helping me. Maybe it was not the most elegant, but I confess, I panicked a little—I did not expect to see you there, you see. I had hoped you would take the drink offer, so you can meet some of the other girls aiding me, but clearly you only have your eyes on one woman. Lucky for you, I do not take such things personally.”

“What the hell would you need my help for?” Beca asks, glaring. 

Florencia smiles, as she taps her fingers on her knee. “Oh, I have heard many things about you. There are so _many_ possibilities, my friend. You see, I am currently investigating a new human trafficking network set up around Blackstone. In situations like these, it is better to ah—nip it in the bud, correct? But I fear the more I investigate, the more I discover that Blackstone may not be so new. Either way, with all of George Cole’s anger on the redhead—Chloe, yes?—it is easy enough to manipulate the situation and find out all I can about how deep it all goes. _You_ looked like you’re on a mission. I thought you might be helpful.” She pauses and raises a brow. “If you don’t mind me saying, you are not very good at the undercover thing.”

Beca ignores the obviousness of her last comment and grabs on instead to the crux of this strange woman’s so-called purpose. “Human trafficking?”

“The most abhorrent of sins,” Flo says with a solemn nod. “I’ve been investigating this area for two months now after a number of rumours started sprouting up, but nothing very scandalous happened until Blackstone started making…ehm… _changes_ , I suppose you can call them. I would like your help, so I am offering mine. It is that simple.”

Beca narrows her eyes, “I have _no_ reason to believe you’re not just going to bring Cole right to us.”

“Well, I did just save your life,” Flo says with a shrug. She brightens suddenly. “Oh no, wait, did I save you _twice_? My god, I am amazing. You see? Again, I am at a disadvantage.”

“What the hell are you talking about now?” Beca says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Flo grins, puffing her chest proudly. “The bomb, of course! You’re welcome.”

“Uh,” Beca furrows her brows, “ _you_ planted the bomb?”

“Yes!” she says, clapping her hands together cheerfully, “again, you’re very welcome. Though it is not entirely my idea. Cole was planning to burn down Blackstone anyway—many people were getting close, you see. I just made it happen a little earlier when I saw you escape with the little one. Couldn’t really pass up the chance to get rid of some of those other bastards either. I doubt Eddie will walk again.”

Beca glances at “the little one,” a strange choice of words considering how much Emily towered over this strange, petite woman when she stood. Emily’s face is pale. “Oh my gosh,” is all that comes out of her mouth.

Flo’s smile falters. “I’ve been trying to locate you for several days, little one. I don’t know where they take the girls, and I was hoping that you,” she tilts her head at Beca, “would help me find out what happened to them, since you seem to have some special way.”

“Right…” Beca says quietly. “Except…I still don’t trust you.”

“Fair. I might rob you blind and leave you to die—been there; it sucks. Or I might not.” Flo shrugs again. “Does it matter? This is so much bigger than you and me. Even the million-dollar girl. This is about the survival of the female race—about finding justice for all women who don’t have a voice. It’s about not letting bad men get away with worse crimes.”

“Uh, yeah, you can call it whatever you want. Thing is, I...don’t care. People I love are in danger, so excuse me for not having any fucks left to give. If we’re done here, I’ll walk you out.”

“People?” Flo says, surprised. “There are more of you?” She gasps quietly, as if remembering something important. “Ah, of course,” she murmurs to herself. “Where are your friends now?” She asks Beca.

Beca crosses her arms. “Going after Cole as we speak, so you can tell your boss to shove whatever bullshit this is up his ass.”

Flo springs up from her seat and stands in front of Beca. “How many? Two?” Her dark eyes are wide, almost panicked.

“Uh, two,” Beca says, taken aback. “How did you—”

“ _Dios mio_ , are you freaking kidding me? You sent _two_ people after George Cole? Do you even have any idea where he is and what he is capable of?”

“Of course,” Beca says, almost petulant in the face of Flo’s accusatory tone.

“Tell me, then.”

“Under the Blackstone Lounge,” she huffs.

“Yes, but,” Flo shakes her head, “it is not that simple. Where are they now? Connect me to them. Right now” —with one hand on her hip, she jabs a finger at the floor for emphasis—“or I _guarantee_ they will not make it out alive. And men like Cole and Eddie will _not_ win on my watch.”

* * *

Stacie pulls up along the side of the road and shuts off the engine. Finally—Beca and the others have been silent for way too long. She’s aware of the depth of their family bunker and the impenetrable walls that eat up any radio waves that do make it through, but she worries nonetheless. The last time they spoke, they were leading Florencia Fuentes to their bunker. The madwoman she read about could have killed them all by now. It takes long, rambling inner dialogues to construct enough reason to calm herself down.

Aubrey throws worried looks her way, but doesn’t interrupt the process. 

It’s a relief to say the least when Beca finally gets the old console working. Her voice comes out tinny at first and just strong enough to be audible if she strained her ears. Nonetheless, the first “Hello?” is enough to take the weight off her chest.

“Beca?” Stacie calls out. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Chloe and Emily?” Aubrey asks, the tip of her nail pressed against her lower lip in concern.

“Um, I’m here, Bree,” Chloe says, her volume fluctuating as she moves closer to the microphone. “Emily is…somewhere in the bunker. I think she’s having a hard time, but she’s safe.”

“Survivor’s guilt, that one,” a third voice says from far away.

Stacie’s eyes widen.

No way.

They couldn’t possibly have been this stupid.

“Don’t be mad,” Beca says calmly, interpreting her silence perfectly.

“Beca, what are you thinking?” She shouts, throwing both hands up. “You can’t just let her into the comms room! That bunker is our last line of defence before—oh, goddammit! Get her out of there!”

She feels Aubrey’s hand on her knee, rubbing slow circles with her thumb to calm her down. It doesn’t work, but she’s grateful nonetheless.

“This is crazy!”

“I _don’t_ want to hear that from you,” Beca bitter retort bites extra hard through the car’s speakers. “I still haven’t forgiven you yet.”

“This…that’s…ugh. Fuck!” Stacie says, groans into her hands in frustration when the words don’t come out.

Aubrey squeezes her knee this time. It’s okay, she mouths. “I think what Stacie is trying to say is that these are two different issues,” she says to Beca. “You’re allowed to be angry, but please don’t put yourselves in any more danger.”

Stacie covers Aubrey’s hand with her own and gives her a grateful look.

“Yes, but,” Beca exhales, “there’s already danger everywhere. There are fuck knows how many people on our property as we speak.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stacie mutters. “I knew it this would happen.”

“She really knows a lot about Cole, Stacie,” Chloe’s voice adds quietly. “And she’s the one who planted the bomb that saved Beca.”

“Wait, _what_? I was wrong?” Stacie whispers this like the very idea is inconceivable, and Aubrey can’t help but roll her eyes. But Stacie looks at her then with a truly dejected expression, and she softens enough to offer a small consoling smile.

“You’re right about the evidence,” Beca replies. “He wanted to burn the place down. You were right about the trap too. Luring us out and all that, though we showed up a bit early. The costumes though—that was Eddie’s idea.”

“How the hell does she know all this?” Stacie snaps.

“ _Hola_ , ladies,” the chipper voice of Florencia Fuentes appears suddenly, “I would say nice to officially meet you, but these circumstances are not so nice. Please, allow me to explain.”

Stacie grits her teeth. “Florencia—”

“Oh, you can call me Flo. We’re friends now.”

“No,” Beca says from far away.

“Yeah, I’m with Beca on this one. We are _not_ friends, and I _don’t_ trust you. Are we clear?” Stacie says, tempers flaring almost immediately. 

“Calm down,” Flo says with a chuckle. “You girls are so intense, you know that? I know many things because I worked for Cole. Well, he thinks I worked with him. For me, it is only business and I have a bigger purpose, so I have no loyalty to the man. I am here to help. Ask me anything, and I will happily answer your questions.”

“And why the hell would you do that?” Stacie asks.

“It is as I said. I want to help you because I need your help too. I am told you are among the best.”

Stacie and Aubrey exchange frowns.

“Who told you about us? And what are you talking about?” Aubrey asks.

“Finding the girls, of course. You know about the disappearances around Blackstone, right? Oh, what am I saying—you found Emily, so of course you do. I want to find them—the others—but I don’t have the resources you seem to.”

Aubrey’s brows shoot up. “The…other girls?” she repeats. Her eyes brighten as she reaches over and clutches Stacie’s hand. Her teeth tug a little at her bottom lip, and Stacie’s heart leaps, her mind racing already before Flo can ask the question. Her mind fires along parallel paths, half curled around myriad possibilities of keeping Aubrey by her side at the risk of more danger, while the other half saw Stacie trying to cope with Aubrey back in her old life. Alone—but easier. Safer.

“Yes,” Flo says. Finally, she asks the question: “Will you help me?”

Aubrey’s hand moves to grasp her forearm. Her palm is warm, but her gaze strays to the side, hesitating. Stacie’s pulse quickens when she eventually meets her eyes again. “Can we?” She mouths. She knows what this could mean for the two of them.

If what Flo is saying is true, then this case will lead to more—Aubrey must know this. She must know it’s more than a few more weeks together. She’s as uncertain as Stacie is—she must be.

But her eyes are still bright, and her smile is expectant. She squeezes Stacie’s arm gently.

This question is too sudden—there are far two many variables influencing far too many outcomes.

But Stacie doesn’t have the heart to say no. All she can do is abandon the hypotheses, the assumptions, and the formula and say, “Yes.” Louder, she tells Flo, “Fine, we will help you, but if you betray us…”

“I would’ve done it an hour ago when all of those trigger-happy bounty hunters overran your property,” Flo says. The eye-roll is palpable even through the speakers. “Trust me, I have many enemies, but you are not one of them, nor will you be. Unless you make the decision sabotage my purpose then I may not forgive you, but neither will the girls who will be destroyed in the process. I think you understand what I mean.”

Aubrey leans her head on Stacie’s shoulder—she’s relieved, Stacie notes with surprise. “Alright,” she tells Flo. “Tell us what we need to know.”

Stacie turns her head to plant a kiss to the top of Aubrey’s head. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she whispers.

“I don’t know,” Aubrey admits, “but we need all the help we can get. We will have to trust Beca’s judgement.”

“Dammit,” Stacie curses softly.

* * *

Most of the bunker is shrouded in darkness, even after Beca managed to get the old generator working. Luckily, they were prepared. Chloe wraps the blanket closer to herself as she walks down the short hallway with a long beam of yellow light to guide her. She’d mumbled some excuse about looking for Emily when she ran out of the comms room, but the truth she can’t bring herself to admit to Beca is that she needed to get out of there too. The more they went on, the more she listened to their voices, the higher the panic rose in her throat.

She pictured Aubrey and Stacie, disappearing in ways she can’t even stomach the thought of, at the hands of the man who has been tormenting them for the last six months. And here she is, while Aubrey risked life and limb, walking up and down a hallway waving a flashlight around for no reason.

Beca can’t lose Stacie. She can’t lose Aubrey. There is no winning unless it’s all or nothing.

She can’t lose Aubrey.

They can’t lose.

They just can’t.

She shifts Cotton in her arms and drops down to sit on her heels, burying her face in Cotton’s fur when it suddenly feels like the stale underground air disappears all at once. “Oh god,” she whispers into Cotton’s neck. The flashlight rolls out of her fingers and hits the floor with a clang. She squeezes her eyes shut, takes several deep breaths, holds them in her mouth and lets them sink in.

Everything will be okay.

Pull yourself together, she tells herself. None of these feelings are helpful to anybody right now.

Emily—Emily needs her. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Mustering every last ounce of her courage, she picks up her flashlight and continues on her search.

Emily is sitting on the bottom bunk of a small bedroom with her head in her hands when Chloe finds her. Chloe stands at the door and shines her light to the floor, biting her lip with Cotton in her arms when she hears the poor girl quietly cry.

“Hey,” Chloe says softly. “It’s me.”

Emily shifts, her silhouette quivering when she quickly brushes her tears away. She sniffles slightly, and Chloe can almost picture the wide, panic-stricken eyes she has whenever she looks at her. “M-Miss Chloe,” she says.

Chloe turns off the flashlight and lets her eyes adjust to the shadows. Emily flinches a little when Chloe moves to sit next to her. Chloe carefully drops Cotton into Emily’s lap, and as she runs her fingers through her thick grey fur, the tension eases. “How are you doing?” Chloe asks, rolling her flashlight in her hands. “Just sitting in the dark, huh?”

“Oh, um, good—I’m good,” Emily lies politely, offering her a darting glance and an uneasy smile. “Better now that I have a bunny.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says with a smile, “Cotton is so good.”

She vaguely sees Emily nod. The silence then falls over them. And perhaps it’s the intimacy of darkness, or the fact that her anxieties about this whole night are so salient, but Chloe wants to speak. Chloe takes several more breaths as she debates opening up to the girl who nearly cost her Beca—she hasn’t entirely forgiven her for that, even if she knows—theoretically, at least—it wasn’t her fault. But she _needs_ to talk through the chaos in her mind, and it hits her suddenly that perhaps Emily is the only person in the world right now who understands.

“Emily,” she says shakily. The girl turns—even in the darkness, she can feel the weight of her red-rimmed eyes, “you know…I think the two of us are the most similar people here. That’s…why you were crying, right?”

Emily says nothing.

“It feels like…the world is falling out from under you, and it’s all your fault…but you can’t do anything about it. So, the helplessness and the guilt just eats you up. It eats you up while everyone else—people who made the simple mistake of caring about you—are scrambling to fix the mess you left behind,” Chloe says, gripping the cold flashlight in her hands harder. “They tell you it’s not your fault. They tell you you’re innocent. You want to believe them, but…but…”

“But you know deep down that if it weren’t for you…”

“Yeah.”

Emily sniffles a little. “I…I can’t help but think that it would be better if…if…”

Chloe shakes her head. “Don’t say it. Because you know it’s not true.”

“But Miss Stacie and Miss Aubrey…they…”

“Maybe it was inevitable,” Chloe sighs. “If not them, then Beca. If not Beca, then me. There’s no point in thinking about rewriting history. Trust me, I’ve thought of a million ways I could’ve avoided killing Henry Cole and saving everyone the trouble of protecting me. But, you know what? It doesn’t really matter at the end of the day.”

“I…I guess not,” Emily mumbles. “I didn’t even know about the tracker…but now I know what it cost to save my life. I mean…people have died. I _saw_ people die, because _I_ brought them here. And the house—all of this—I’m sorry to be such an Eeyore, Miss Chloe, but I just feel so _useless_. H-how can any of this be worth it?”

The silence closes in while Chloe sinks into Emily’s familiar question.

“Emily,” Chloe says eventually, “whether you like it or not, we’re in this together now. You’re like me. We were both…thrown into situations we can’t control. I don’t want you to think you’re on a sinking ship by yourself. And I know…I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot. But that’s…that’s in the past now. I’m sorry for not being more understanding then, not that I could’ve been any other way given the circumstances—I hope you’ll forgive me for that. The point is, I saw the footage too. I saw it as it happened, you know. And what happened to you…it’s nobody’s fault but those horrible, horrible men, you hear me?”

“I know that…I know that in my brain, just…” Emily sighs again, and it’s so _painfully_ familiar that Chloe swears she feels the weight of the sound on her own shoulders.

Chloe leans back to lay across the bunk bed, folding her hands on her stomach as she quietly digests Emily’s words. Finally, she says out loud the one recurring thought she hasn’t been able to tell anyone else: “It’s hard to convince yourself your survival, your life, is…something valuable, when so many people are risking their life for you.”

“Yeah,” Emily admits, her shadow shifting.

“Beca told me once that your life is worth more than you think it is. It took some time for me to see it, but…she’s right. Our lives are so…interconnected. We matter to each other in ways we don’t even think about,” she says, looking up into the darkness. “You’re connected to your past, your present—us—and your future—all the people you’re going to help someday. They’re going to be grateful that you lived and that you’re alive.”

“I’ve…never really thought about it that way before,” Emily mumbles.

“You’ve probably never had to think about the value of your life before,” Chloe chuckles. “You seem like a smart kid—all of us see something in you. I know our situation doesn’t make it easy, but eventually I hope you’ll learn to see it for yourself.”

“Yeah…”

Chloe swings her legs and pushes her body up with the momentum, then takes a second to inhale deeply and exhales. “Do you have your flashlight with you?” she asks, patting the space around her for her own. She finds it by her thigh, and turns it on, the long yellow beam blinding her momentarily as it shoots across the mostly empty bedroom.

“Y-yeah, it’s here somewhere, I think,” Emily says, bringing a hand up to shield herself from the light Chloe shines on her.

“Oops,” Chloe says with a sheepish laugh as she directs the light back to the floor. “In that case, I’ll leave Cotton in your care while I head back to Beca. Get some rest while you can. Cry it out if you need to—there’s no shame in that. We’ll find you if we need you, and if you need us, just bring your flashlight. You’ll find us in the comms room. Whenever you’re ready.”

“T-thanks, Miss Chloe.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

Chloe closes the bedroom door behind her, turns around to see a beam of light coming from the end of the concrete hallway. Her own light connects, and she squints into the column of light. Her heart sings when Beca visibly relaxes when she sees her.

“There you are,” Beca sighs when Chloe takes her into her arms. Beca feels Chloe’s flashlight dig into her back in the tight embrace, but she likes the way her light bounces off the white wall and illuminates them both. “Saw you run out…are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe whispers, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. “I was just checking up on Emily. Between the tracker thing and the people in the forest—everything just freaked her out a bit, I think. She’s fine now, but she’s going to get some rest. Cotton’s in there being an emotional support bunny too.”

Beca nods, but her eyes are glassy, distracted. “Are _you_ okay?” Chloe asks with a frown.

“Yeah…yeah, maybe,” Beca says, laying her forehead on Chloe’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Stacie and Aubrey are talking to Flo now. Looks like Cole found himself an underground tunnel network too. I don’t know…I’m tired. I hate all of this so much.”

“I know,” Chloe whispers, stroking her hair gently.

“Come back with me?” Beca says, pulling away to gaze imploringly into Chloe’s eyes. “I…like having you with me,” she admits with a blush. “Feels safer.”

Chloe grins. “Of course. I’m here—anything you need at all, I’m here for you, Becs,” she says, sweeping down for a kiss. Beca’s good arm instinctively reaches up and holds her there for a beat longer.

The world is on fire, like Stacie said, but when Chloe kisses her like she’s water in a desert, there is a moment of peace. And Beca sighs into it, clinging to it for as long as she can.

It’s a short walk back to the comms room. The bunker is a collection of rooms along two stark-white tunnels. It isn’t big, with the main rooms clustered close together. The first tunnel, lined with metal crates, is sandwiched between two heavy blast doors—a simple countermeasure. Beyond the second door is an L-shaped room laid out like a studio-apartment, complete with a kitchen in the corner, a vinyl tablecloth on the Formica dining table, and a living room consisting of two couches and a coffee table. It’s a lot of wood with a lot of green upholstery in the living area and a lot of white cabinets to match the classroom floor-tiles in the kitchen area—all reminiscent of Cold War sentimentalities of the 1950s.

Past this is the hallway, containing two small bedrooms with bunk beds, a miraculously functioning bathroom, a fully-stocked pantry, and several empty rooms.

Beca hasn’t been down here since she was 15, when Sofia had a particularly bad episode of paranoia. There very well may have been a plot to kill her—nobody would be surprised—but all Beca remembers are long days with no nights, and getting thrown into an empty concrete room somewhere by the wine cellar when she and Stacie attempted to get drunk while Sofia was sleeping. Stacie sat against her door the entire night she was in there, cracking jokes and telling stories like it was just another day.

Her heart clenches when her flashlight passes the place where Stacie sat. She imagines her giraffe legs stretched across the entire hallway, her hands fidgeting with a Rubik’s cube she found in a desk somewhere on the first day. She imagines her head laid back against the metal door, as she laughed at her own dumb jokes.

She closes her eyes as they walk past that door and into one of the empty rooms.

Through the empty room, a nondescript door leads to the comms room, a spacious office designed to simply house the massive console built into the wall. It’s an early computer Beca doesn’t quite understand, filled with buttons and switches and sliders and dials. All she knows is that it connects to the outside world, and as far as she knows, that’s its only function. There is even an old rotary phone on a desk beside it—probably some special line connected to some conspiracy or another that Sofia always seemed to get caught up in.

It’s also the only room in the entire complex currently lit up by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

And it’s here that she finds Flo sitting in an orange, leather-backed swivel chair, staring intensely at the console before her. “Yes, that’s right,” she says in mid-conversation, “but they did not trust me enough to wander—for good reason, I guess—so I can only give you so much.”

Beca takes a seat on the edge of an old, matching orange loveseat as she observes the conversation, absentmindedly touching Chloe’s arm as it slides across her collarbone. Chloe fits herself comfortably behind Beca, one leg stretched out along the length of the couch while the other brushes the side of Beca’s thigh. Beca wants to ask if she’s comfortable, but Chloe’s little sigh of contentment against her neck answers the question for her.

“It’s probably filled with guards.” Stacie’s response crackles through the old speakers.

“Not as much as you might think,” Flo replies. “Except in some areas. They don’t expect you to find them. Cole is smart and he is vengeful, but he is not as rich as he wants people to think he is.”

“Aubrey, can you pass me the notebook in the glove box? Yeah—thanks, babe.”

Beca half expects Aubrey to say, “Don’t call me babe,” as she often does, but all she hears is a vague “You’re welcome” and that makes her smile. Something must’ve happened. Her heart clenches for a split second at the thought of never being able to see Stacie again—to congratulate her, to see her triumphant smile as she ruffles her hair and tells her, “I told you so.” She studies Flo—she isn’t religious by any stretch of the imagination, but she prays that she will even the odds.

“What else?”

“It’s a lot of hallways,” Flo says, motioning vaguely with her hands despite not having an audience. “Cole lives in a special apartment, I remember. I’ve only been to the outside. There’s a, uh—what do you call it? A room—before a room.”

“An antechamber?” Aubrey offers.

“Yes, yes. It had a bear inside. Like, a big one, and it definitely did not wear a cute little costume to trick tourists into believing America is all about having picnics.”

“Is that…the only thing in the room?”

“Yes, that’s what I remember. It is very small, but the door is hidden—you might need something strong. A bomb, maybe, since I could not see it. They didn’t allow me a lot of time anyway, since I was just doing drop-offs.”

“Drop-offs?” Stacie says. She pauses. “You better not be fucking telling me you’re the one who provided the M5s.”

“Well, yes, but it is business—charged him through the nose for it too,” Flo says breezily. “Either way, I could not get closer without dealing. You can be mad about it, or we can move on—your call.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Aubrey’s voice filters past Stacie’s silent rage, barely audible above the noise of the speakers. “You can kick her ass later if it’ll make you feel better.”

Flo snorts. “You could try. It would be fun for me to watch.”

“Oh, you wanna go?” Stacie all but growls. “I know a million ways to destroy a person.”

“Jesus,” Aubrey says, “calm _down_ —both of you. We don’t have time for this needless in-fighting right now.”

Beca almost laughs when Stacie and Flo mumble their apologies simultaneously. She can even feel a smile against her neck when Chloe says, “Nobody can make people apologize quite like Bree.”

Beca nods. “Yup.”

“Beca?” Chloe whispers in her ear as Flo continues her conversation with Stacie and Aubrey, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” Beca says, covering Chloe’s hand on her stomach with her own. “Anything.”

“I’m… scared. None of this… none of this sounds good. Even with Flo’s help, I…I’m worried about Aubrey.” She hooks her chin along the curve of Beca’s uninjured shoulder and exhales.

“Me too,” Beca confesses. “I’m not used to doing nothing.”

“I don’t want to lose her…”

“I know,” Beca says gently, turning her head to brush her lips lightly against Chloe’s cheek. “But you won’t. Stacie would do anything to protect her. Trust me.”

“Yeah…”

Beca squeezes her hand with the little comfort she can offer her, and says nothing more. Her heart breaks a little when she hears a muffled little sniffle, barely audible against her shoulder, and she wants to take her far, far away into a reality where they didn’t have to worry about the safety of their friends. That big house she dreams of, perhaps, with a big yard full of dogs. As it is, she simply holds her hand and doesn’t let go.

Between the lull of the muted discussion between Stacie, Aubrey, and Flo and the warmth of Chloe’s arms around her, Beca starts to feel the heaviness of sleep hang over her an hour later. Chloe too, from the way her head keeps ducking beside hers. It’s been a long night.

But she blinks the sleepiness away—not while Stacie and Aubrey still need her. They’re en route to Blackstone at this point, quiet fragments of their conversation periodically cutting through as they barrelled toward uncertainty. Even Flo is dozing off. Beca sighs in resignation as she stares down at her empty hands in her lap. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s felt so helpless. 

She catches Chloe with her good arm when she starts to slip over and gently calls out her name.

Chloe blinks at her blearily. “W-what is it?” she mumbles.

“You should sleep,” Beca replies with a weary smile. “In a real bed. You must be exhausted.”

“Oh,” Chloe rubs her eyes, mumbling, “did I doze off just now? Sorry.”

Beca shakes her head and slowly stands with her hands on her hips. “Don’t apologize, you weirdo. Go sleep. I’ll be okay here.”

Chloe frowns. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be okay,” Beca insists, though if she’s honest, she doesn’t much like the idea of leaving the comfort of Chloe’s embrace. It’s a lot colder in this room even now, with Chloe sitting a kiss away with her hands resting on the empty spot Beca left behind.

Chloe holds out a hand and waits patiently for Beca to indulge her. She does—because, of course she does—and she allows herself to be pulled back onto the couch. She fills her old space, facing Chloe this time, and her heart tugs at the pained expression across Chloe’s face.

“But…what if something happens, Becs?” Chloe says, tucking a loose lock of hair behind Beca’s ear. “I want to be here for you no matter what.”

“Aw, aren’t you guys sweet,” Flo says, watching them with a bemused smile. “How long have you two been together?”

Beca peers over her shoulder at Flo. “None of your business,” she says curtly.

“Sheesh, touchy.” Flo raises her hands, “I was just making small talk and trying to get to know my new _amigas_.”

“We aren’t friends.” Beca, with her hands on Chloe’s hips protectively, glares at Flo. “It’s none. Of. Your. Business.”

“I’ve spent two years stranded in a tunnel after an earthquake, with nothing but rats and diarrhea—you do not need to keep trying to scare me,” Flo laughs, rolling her chair a little closer. “Hm, if I had to guess, you’ve either been together a very short time or a very long time. You are protective, but comfortable—like you have spent enough time together but still have the heart eyes. Ah, how do you Americans say it? Pour the tea, sister!”

Chloe laughs a little through her discomfort, and the sound immediately softens Beca. She is about to speak when the speakers suddenly crackle.

“Hey guys?” Stacie says, her voice crackling loudly through the speakers, “we’re approaching Blackstone now, but something doesn’t feel right.”

Flo whips around and propels herself to the microphone. “What do you see?”

“Nothing. It’s…too quiet.”

“It feels like we’re being watched,” Aubrey says.

“You didn’t tell them we were coming, did you?” Stacie’s voice is cold and stiff with distrust.

Flo rolls her eyes and sighs. “No, I did not. How many times do I have to tell you? I have nothing more to gain from these monkeys. But I would not be surprised if they have guards hiding somewhere on the outside. They really underestimated you guys, and they probably won’t do it again now that they know you’re trying to sabotage them.”

All eyes dart to the door when footsteps suddenly approach. It’s Emily, who is so taken aback by the sudden attention that she drops the blanket on her shoulders. She gives them a sheepish smile and stoops to pick it up, awkwardly trying to balance Cotton in her arm as she does so. When everyone else turns back to the console, she lingers by the door.

“Just in case, maybe be more careful.”

“Yeah, not the most helpful.”

“Stace,” Aubrey says disapprovingly.

There is some rustling on the other end, but Stacie doesn’t reply.

“Thank you,” Flo says. “Maybe it will be helpful to tell you that the entire Blackstone operation has ten M5s after the fire, three M39 rifles, and many pistols not from me. Maybe the convenience store—America is a strange place.”

“Okay, so three possible snipers,” Stacie mutters. “You better not be lying.”

The car door opens then.

Roughly five seconds later, however, something screeches in the distance.

“Holy f—”

“Stacie!”

Everyone in the comms room is frozen stiff when something suddenly explodes through the speakers, the sound so loud that only white noise makes it through the shoddy transmission.

It’s silent for a second while the screeching rings in their ears.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stacie says, panting. “Aubrey, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What—what happened?” Beca says into the microphone. She has no recollection of getting on her feet, but she’s suddenly at the console, Flo pushed several feet away.

“Flo, you didn’t mention they had _a fucking RPG_ ,” Stacie yells angrily. “They blew up my goddamn car!”

Beca turns to glare at Flo, who looks back at her with glassy eyes, her face pale with shock. Beca scowls, then motions to the microphone. It takes a moment more for Flo to regain control of her limbs and push herself toward the console. Beca sees her hands shaking slightly as she grips the metal base.

“I did not know, I swear,” Flo says, her voice wavering. “It is definitely not from me.” She shakes her head and clears her throat. “You have to keep moving. Don’t go any closer to Blackstone—we don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“Where the hell are we supposed to go then?” Stacie snaps.

Flo taps her fingers on the console, thinking hard for a moment. “Oh! There is a gas station down the block. There is a different entrance, I’ve heard. It might be guarded, but you have a better chance fighting someone you can see, right?”

“Why the fuck didn’t we go there first?” 

“I’m sorry!” Flo says, throwing her hands up against Stacie's invisible rage. “I have not been there—only heard about it while eavesdropping. I remembered it just now.”

“Oh, very convenient.”

“You end up with a lot of head trauma when you grow up in underground fighting rings,” Flo says irritably. “I forget things sometimes, okay?”

“I’ve had enough of your fucking—"

“Stacie, stop it!” they hear Aubrey say through her own earpiece. “I’m talking to Flo from now on since you can’t seem to be nice.”

“Wha— _excuse me_ if I—”

“Flo, just take us to the gas station. There are enough threats going on,” Aubrey says through the static of the air rushing past them as they run. "Stay close, Stace."

“Yes, straight ahead,” Flo says, calmer now to match Aubrey's gentler tones. “I don’t know how many guards they will have, but it will probably not be too many, or it will look very suspicious. Look out for anybody wearing too much black and has big muscles. Cole kind of has a type.”

“We’ve seen the type.” 

Several long minutes of listening to the cacophony of laboured breathing, crackling wind, and spiking anxiety through the old speakers later, Aubrey finally speaks again. “We’re here. Nothing looks suspicious at the moment.”

“Still,” Flo says, “be careful. I don’t know what either of you look like, but for your sake, I hope you don’t look like cops or something.”

“Um…what does a black turtleneck, black khakis, and black vest look like to you?” Aubrey says.

“Oh my god,” Flo says, running a hand down her face. “Worse than cops.”

“Well, they’ve already blown up my car, so they probably know we’re coming,” Stacie grumbles, exasperation clear in her voice. She pauses. “Do you think we’ll throw them off if we start making out?”

“What?”

“Oh, c’mon, Bree.”

“No! I don’t see how that helps—at _all_ ,” Aubrey huffs. “S-stop smiling, you idiot. This is _so_ not the time. We have to keep going.”

“Alright, alright.”

More breathing, distant traffic, and the rustle of staticky miscellaneous noise. Emily is leaning on the couch now, incessantly worrying her lower lip while she absently stroked Cotton’s fur. Chloe is beside her, her legs pulled up to her chest. Her expression tugs Beca toward her, and she silently crosses the room to take her hand and sit beside her. “They’ll be okay,” Beca whispers. “Stacie’s still joking around—it’s a good sign.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says laying her head against the back of the couch. She places a light kiss against the bandage of Beca’s injured shoulder and curls up against it as much as she could.

“Two,” Stacie whispers suddenly. “You take the left one and I—oh shit, he’s looking this way.”

“What the hell are you—”

The room holds its breath when Aubrey’s voice is suddenly muffled. Chloe sits up, and Emily gasps, taking several steps toward the console. A second later, however, her voice takes on a different quality that floods the room with embarrassment. The kind accompanied by vaguely wet noises, followed by far too much heavy breathing.

“Oh my,” Flo says, spinning around to avoid looking at the console. “Things got spicy.”

“Stacie, s-stop, you’re—ah!”

“Oh gosh,” Emily mumbles, covering her face in her hands as she retreats back to her perch. “This is like accidentally hearing my parents have sex all over again…”

Chloe snorts, burying her face behind Beca to smother her laugh.

“At least they definitely made up,” Beca says, running her hand over her face in a fruitless attempt to cool it down.

“Oh, totes,” Chloe says. “That's putting it mildly.”

“Sorry,” they eventually hear Stacie say, “I, uh, got carried away.”

Aubrey clears her throat. “Well, you’re lucky it worked. Jesus, Stacie, stop looking at me like that—ah-ah, hold it right there. Everyone can hear us, you idiot! Do you really want to be putting on another show right now?”

“Well, no, but—maybe one more for the road.”

“Does this happen often around here?” Flo asks when Stacie’s “one more” stretches far longer than anyone in the room is comfortable listening to.

“Definitely not,” Beca says.

“Aubrey and Stacie have…been through a lot,” Chloe says with an embarrassed smile. “This is probably just…you know, them getting it out of their systems. Getting…a _lot_ of it out of their systems.”

Flo whistles, and even she starts to look a little uncomfortable when she says, “They must have a lot built up in their systems.”

Finally, Aubrey speaks again, even breathier than before. “They’re looking away.”

“Everyone within a five-mile radius is looking away,” Flo says into the microphone with a laugh.

“Yeah, we should go,” Stacie mumbles, ignoring Flo. “Definitely. We should definitely…go…like, right now.”

“Stacie!”

“Right, okay, okay, I’m going!”

Several minutes of banging, grunting, and groaning male voices later, Aubrey reports back with an “all clear.”

“Huh, I’m impressed,” Flo says, “it took you much longer to _distract_ the guards than it did to take them out.”

“Hey, I think I found the entrance,” Aubrey says after a few minutes. “Stace, come help me push.”

There’s a long screech of scraping, whining metal accompanied by several grunts. “There it is,” someone says behind the noise.

“Unlocked,” Aubrey reports.

They hear a clack and a squeaky hinge.

“Oh, shit,” Stacie breathes.

“What do you see?” Flo asks.

For a long moment, there is only silence.

“Hey, Beca?” Stacie says quietly.

Beca gets up and goes for the microphone immediately. “Yeah, I’m here. What do you need, Stace?”

Stacie takes a deep breath. “There’s…a steep set of stairs here. Can’t see a thing. I don’t know how deep this goes. Christ, Fuentes, you could’ve warned us,” she adds bitterly.

“I did,” Flo huffs, “It is an underground bunker—you cannot tell me you did not expect it to be deep.”

“Fuck,” Stacie mutters. “You're right, I can’t believe I”—she groans—“I guess it doesn’t make a difference. Bec…we—we have to go.”

“No, no, no, no, hold on—you promised you’d stay on comms. That was the deal!” Beca says, gripping the microphone stand like a lifeline. “Stop…stop breaking promises…”

“You know I don’t have a choice,” Stacie says, her voice wavering at the same time that tears begin to blur Beca’s vision. “It’s…it’s only for now. We’ll see you soon. But…if we don’t…I’ve already sent my instructions to Jessica.”

“Stace, you can’t be serious—please! We can…we can think of something else,” Beca pleas.

“C’mon Beca—have some faith in me for once in your life.” The light-hearted chuckle she musters crack with emotion, and she clears her throat. “It’ll be okay.”

“No!” Chloe is suddenly by Beca’s side, both hands slammed against the console, her face entirely devoid of colour. “You two—you can’t leave us like this! Bree, please…you have to say something!”

“Chloe,” Aubrey says softly. “Stacie’s right…it’s…it’s steep. There’s no way the radio waves will be able to get through down there.”

“Maybe there’s another way. Maybe we can regroup,” Chloe says shakily. “Just…don’t go in by yourselves—please.”

“They already know we’re here, Chloe—the longer we wait, the more dangerous it’ll be for all of us.”

“It’s just for now,” Aubrey adds. “No matter what happens, Chlo, I love you very much, okay?”

“D-don’t say it like you’re not coming back, Bree.” Chloe is crying now as she drops her head. Beca wants to reach out and comfort her, but through her own wet eyes, everything feels so far away. “You’re coming back. You have to.”

“Beca, take care of my family,” Aubrey says. “I trust you.”

“Bree…please,” Chloe begs.

But all they hear is the first clang of a metal step among the static, followed by several more.

Their footsteps soon echo sporadically as the connection begins to fade, the static cutting out more and more with each step.

“See…ther…si…” Stacie says.

And then they’re gone.

In the frozen silence, Chloe weeps, and all Beca can do is hold her close.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jessica is sitting on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands.

Lilly leans against the wall as she fiddles with her communicator. She’s sliding the keyboard in and out.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Finally, she speaks in her quiet way, but the room is so quiet that the words suspend themselves in the tension. “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have gone.”

Jessica shakes her head. “You tried your best,” she says, lifting her head to give her a smile. Her heart isn’t in it, but Lilly nods—she understands—and frowns—she still wishes she can do more; she can’t believe she can’t do more. And Jessica is glad she isn’t alone when this is all that she’s been feeling since she received Stacie’s message. “Hey, chin up, Lilly. You only did what Stacie asked. The girl that was going to be smuggled onto a plane—her life would’ve gone in a very different direction if not for you. And…well, you took precautions to keep them safe. You really did the best you could,” she says with a comforting smile that Lilly slowly mirrors. “You did your job and now I have to do mine. Even though all of it is...it’s…it’s insane.”

Lilly nods. The orange beam of her keyboard flickers into existence and pulls out into a rectangle. “Can you reach Beca?” came the solemn question.

Jessica rubs a hand down her face. “Yeah.”

“She has the right to know.”

“You’re right. Even if she probably already has an idea. It’s… always been a possibility. Even if…even if it doesn’t make things easier. Just let me talk to Ashley first. I can’t keep this inside anymore. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Lilly nods again. “I’ll head back and clean up.”

* * *

Emily watches the Rubik’s cube in Flo’s hands with an almost obsessive fascination—it fills her brain with white noise, and that’s all that she can manage. The quiet clack of its plastic parts has been the only sound in this room for over forty-five minutes now. With Cotton back in her cage in Chloe’s room, her hands feel empty and restless as she simply watches.

Flo isn’t very good at solving the cube, but she’s neither frustrated or enthused by it either. She simply twists the multicoloured panels around to pass the time, and Emily wonders now if there is anything on earth that can truly rattle a woman like Florencia Fuentes.

Beca had asked her to watch over Flo just before she left to comfort Chloe, and Emily was too stunned by it all to protest. And while there is a tiny spark of pride in being entrusted with this mammoth task, she couldn’t help but wonder _how_ Beca expects her to be of help in any way at all if this woman proved to be trouble. She can kill her in less than a heartbeat.

But she wouldn’t, Emily assures herself. She has no reason to at this point. She doesn’t even try to leave. Against her better judgement and against Aubrey’s voice in her head telling her not to trust strange women so easily, she finds herself both fascinated and terrified of this bold stranger. Maybe it’s the easy-going optimism Flo carries with her, or the power she holds over her. She’s easy to admire and easy to relax around, perhaps deceptively so, and she forces herself to focus on these qualities so she doesn’t have to think about how easily she can take a life. Even if that does start to sound a little bit like the very trust Aubrey warned her against.

She simply watches her as if there were the safety of a glass wall between them. Perhaps it’s the same kind of trust one gives to a tiger if you are standing inside its cage, praying that it’s already been fed.

“I will never understand toys like this,” Flo says suddenly. “If people really want to challenge kids, they should take them to a zoo and throw them into the tiger pit.” She thinks for a minute as she twists the toy around. “Then again, tigers are so easy compared to the spiders.”

Emily chuckles nervously, wondering for a moment if she could read minds.

“So,” Flo says, eventually tossing the Rubik’s cube onto the couch. Emily flinches as the cube bounces along the seat beside her, but manages not to yelp too loudly. “You are new to these girls, yes?” Flo asks, casually crossing one leg over the other. “Have they been treating you well?”

Emily nods slowly, picking up the cube herself. “They say they’re assassins, but they’ve been very kind,” she says with a small smile.

“Of course,” Flo says, waving a hand, “those two things are not…ah, what’s the word for it? Mutually exclusive. I’ve heard of Beca before this—I told you this, yes? Well, as much as one can know someone like Beca, I suppose. She is a bit of an enigma even in our… industry. What I mean is that I’ve heard of some of the things she’s done. I joke about saving her life, but she is an excellent assassin, and she has actually helped me many times without knowing it.”

“Really?” Emily looks up from the cube in her hands, frozen mid-twist.

Flo leans back in the chair. “I’ve been in the anti-trafficking business a long time, I guess you can say. It’s an ugly, ugly world—so many people must be persecuted in order to find any kind of justice. And the amount of evidence it takes for a single court date is depressing. So, there is no way out and victims turn to predators—it’s an endless cycle that never touch the top because even if someone can identify the worst people involved, nobody wants to speak. So, when people like Beca swoops in, it’s a good feeling. Doesn’t solve everything, if I’m honest, but sometimes it feels a little closer to winning.”

“I-I see…”

Flo studies her for a moment. “You’re still scared of me.”

Emily shakes her head. Scared is not the right word and trust is not the right issue. A thought, however, has been niggling in the back of her mind for a while, and she feels it crawling up her throat now. The thought worries her—she doesn’t know how Flo feels about such kinds of accusation, but she knows she will say it anyway.

“I’m not,” she begins her reply slowly, drawing out the syllables thoughtfully, “I…think you are amazing for what you do. The same way Stacie and Aubrey and Beca and Chloe are amazing…and your passion is really, really cool. There’s just… well, maybe this is kind of unrelated—I—I guess I want to believe you and the things you say, but something has been bothering me for a while.”

“And what’s that?” Flo taps her fingers in the armrest, almost excited by her skepticism.

“I-it bothers me…how you,” she purses her lip, “um, found us so quickly, I guess. You said…everyone and their mothers knew where we were, but you…got here first.”

“Oh ho, you are a sharp cookie,” Flo says, crossing her arms. “How can you tell I was there first? You were not following me, were you?” She laughs, her eyes glowing with amusement. Emily noticed that she neither confirms nor denies her hunch.

“W-well, your position was…pretty ideal,” Emily says, furrowing her brows and toying with the cube as she works out her reasoning in real time. “It’s true that you could’ve killed whoever was there first, but we would have heard you.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t kill someone earlier on?” Flo challenges with a raised brow.

Emily shakes her head. “We set out pretty soon after sunset—you would’ve been very visible. And even if you’re right, you would’ve gotten there before most of the others did. It’s almost like…you knew we were going that way.”

“Wow. I see why these girls are so taken with you—you are one of us. A woman who sees things differently.”

Emily swallows her nerves and tries to meet her steady gaze. “A-am I right?”

Flo props her elbow on the armrest and leans her chin on her palm. She’s thoughtful for a minute, then her lip quirks. Her voice is surprisingly gentle when she says, “Yes. You are correct. After the fire, I was sent to follow you by a friend, and I was asked to make sure nobody will get to you girls first—it wasn’t supposed to be a secret,” she chuckles, “it simply slipped my mind.”

“Who?”

“Oh, I don’t think you know them. I can’t imagine us having any mutual friends.” She pauses to think for a moment, but waves off the thought. “Anyway, do not worry, my friend is a friend of your friends, so it is fine. Can you trust me, little one?”

Emily lightly scrapes the nail of her thumb against her lower lip. “Your friend cannot be a man,” she mumbles mostly to herself, “you disdain most of them…but this is someone who has…something over you, maybe—someone you owe. If you owe this person, it is likely because they helped you in some way…most likely helping you investigate a trafficking ring. I don’t think this person is an assassin—you’re an assassin…unless they could do something you couldn’t—ah, a cop maybe? No, no, you wouldn’t trust a cop—”

“Okay, stop, listening to you is giving me a headache—what are you doing?” Flo says, shaking her head.

Emily flushes with embarrassment. “I, uh, I’m working out…how to answer your question,” she says slowly. “I’m told I can’t go around trusting strange women for no reason.”

“Ah, I see,” Flo says, laughing, “yes, you’re right. In that case, keep thinking.” She swings her legs and jumps to her feet, then jolts Emily with a sudden cartwheel toward the door. “I am hungry, so I am going to look for food. Do you want to come? I am happy to tell you about it on the way so you don’t explode—you can decide on your answer after that.”

“Um, sure—” The words drop from her lips when she notices that Flo is already out the door. Emily leaps after her, scrambling for the flashlight she’d brought with her and dropping it, just barely missing her foot.

She lets out a frustrated sigh as she grabs it and stumbles into the hallway—you have _one_ job, she reprimands herself.

* * *

Beca tugs the blanket up and tucks it around Chloe’s shoulders. She’d finally cried herself to sleep, and Beca own heart ached so much she stopped feeling it an hour ago. She bends over and places a kiss on Chloe’s forehead. She then slips out of the bedroom and into the dark hallway. Her shirt is damp with Chloe’s tears, but all she feels is that anxious, restless energy coursing through her entire body.

She couldn’t lay there anymore. Couldn’t feel the weight of the darkness against her body and the fear loud in her ears—it reminded her too much of finding young Stacie with her hands pressed to her ears as she shivered in fetal position between cobwebbed tools in the shed. She hasn’t felt the suffocation of darkness for many years, but the weight of Stacie’s absence swims in it, wrapping itself around her like a ghost. She curses her own clumsiness for getting hurt.

It should be her out there. Not Stacie. Definitely not Aubrey.

She ambles through the dark hallway, sweeping her hair out of her face as she feels her way into the musty living room. She lifts the coffee table on its side and pushes the couches out, then drops to the floor, expending her seemingly boundless restless energy into one-armed push-ups. She keeps her shoulder straight, and for as long as she can, she focuses on the tension in her limbs and nothing else, and allows time and exhaustion to temporarily melt her worries away.

Until a sudden beam of light finds its way into her eyes and she swears.

“Omigosh, Beca, I’m so sorry.” The light flicks off as Emily’s voice cuts through the dark from somewhere beyond the couch. Beca sighs and folds herself into a sitting position, wiping the sweat off her face with her damp shirt. She cringes a little at the smell and rips off her shirt completely to sit in her sports bra. There’s a chill underground, but her burning skin doesn’t feel it.

“It’s fine,” Beca says wearily. She lifts her head and squints into the darkness. “You doing okay, Emily? Are you by yourself?”

“Oh, no, I’m here,” Flo says, her voice muffled.

“Uh, what are you eating?” Beca says, pushing herself to her feet. She approaches the two murky shadows of Emily and Flo, one tall and gangly like a shivering tree and the other small and fiery as it stuffs vague rectangular shapes into its mouth.

“Not sure,” Flo responds with a shrug. “Protein bars? I found many in the pantry. Do you want one?”

Beca grimaces, though they could barely make out each others features in the dark. “Dude, everything down here is at _least_ twenty years old.”

“Oh, excellent,” Flo says, pausing to finally swallow what sounds to be the driest protein bar on earth, “I will get us some wine—it must be very delicious. There are so many bottles that I fear I might want to live here for the rest of my days. I will meet you in the room with the light—it is unacceptable to hang out in the dark like this with my very best friends.”

“And she’s off,” Beca sighs as she watches Flo’s shadow recede into the darkness. “It’d be fucking sad if we’re her best friends,” she scoffs, “but she has a point. Wanna light the way back?”

Emily nods eagerly and points her flashlight toward the hallway.

“Um, Beca, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

They’re halfway down the hallway when Emily stops. Beca turns to see the light catching Emily’s frown, and she waits.

“Who is Lilly?”

Beca stiffens. The chill of the tunnel finally catches up to her and she shivers. “How…do you know about Lilly?” She asks through clenched teeth.

“Flo told me,” Emily says, dropping her eyes when she isn’t sure how to go on. “She said…Lilly sent her here.”

“What?” Beca shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Why the _hell_ would a woman like Florencia Fuentes do a favour for Lilly?”

“What do you mean?” Emily asks tentatively.

But Beca’s expression is tight, deep in thought as she rolls this information over and over. Stacie would know what to do with this, she thinks. Surely, there has to be an explanation. She forces herself to take a deep breath and continue down the hall. She has to talk to Flo herself—there’s no use making baseless assumptions after all.

She hears the patter of Emily’s footsteps running after her, and sees the shaky beam of light bouncing around the tunnel. But she doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t say anything at all, and luckily, Emily doesn’t push her to.

They find Flo back in the orange chair with her teeth between the cork of one of Sofia’s rare, vintage reds. The sight would have made the old lady turn in her grave, if Beca believed she had any semblance of a soul to linger in this world. She wants to laugh at how comical Flo looks, but instead, she hears herself, brusque as ever: “How do you know Lilly?”

Flo relinquishes the cork from between her teeth and beams. “You know, I’m a little hurt she never talked about me. After all we’ve been through!”

Beca narrows her eyes. “And what have you been through?”

“Relax, Beca, you are too beautiful to be so tense all the time. Look at your abs!” Flo says casually, lifting the still-corked bottle of wine above her head as if in salute. When Beca scowls, she lowers the bottle and sighs. “Right, you do not enjoy the humour. It is nothing too scandalous, if that is what you are thinking. Lilly helped me find information on a major ring I was tracking down. This was, ah, two years ago? The woman must know all kinds of magic to get people to talk, especially to a pacifist like her. Ah, but perhaps it is enough that one can sense another’s ability to kill. Anyway, she is my friend and I owed her—it is a matter of pride, you know. I do not take charity. I was already investigating Blackstone on my own, so I was, as they say, in the neighbourhood?”

“So…you followed us because…Lilly asked you to?” Beca says, churning the question out slowly as she snatches the bottle from Flo to pop the cork with ease. 

“It is that simple. I am repaying a debt while gaining the advantage of finding new friends. It is a winning situation.” Flo beams when Beca hands her back the wine, and immediately takes a deep swig while Beca wipes her hands on her pants with a frown. She sighs gratefully. “Oh, this is delicious.”

“Jesus,” Beca mumbles to herself. “I guess it doesn’t matter. We’ve come this far. If Lilly trusts her enough to reveal herself to her, then,” she massages her eyelids with a thumb and forefinger when Flo salutes her with the bottle once more with a bright grin, “yeah, I guess.”

Twenty minutes later, Beca is sitting on one side of the couch, rubbing her temple. Emily is solving the Rubik’s Cube for the seventeenth time beside her when the the red telephone suddenly rings, disrupting the thoughtful silence that had fallen over the room. Flo jolts awake in the orange chair and all three women exchange their alarm.

Beca reaches for the receiver with a frown and picks it up. “Hello?”

“Beca? Is that you?”

Something inside Beca uncoils—a tension she didn’t realize had been pulled taunt until Jessica’s voice soothes her. It’s been barely five days since the last time she’s heard it, but this week has been one of the longest in recent memory.

She smiles reflexively. “Jess.”

“Oh my god, finally! Are you guys okay?”

“Okay is relative, I guess,” Beca mumbles, casting a glance at the quiet console against the wall. “Stacie and Aubrey are…”

“Yeah,” Jessica says, “She…told me what she was going to do—very briefly.”

"Yeah, they’re gone now,” Beca clears her throat and clarifies to the silence, “underground—we lost contact.”

“And you guys? Are you and Chloe okay? Lilly told me she sent some help.”

Beca glances up warily at Flo, who looks back expectantly. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Good,” Jessica says distractedly. “So, um, we don’t have a lot of time.” A pause. Then, she asks a question that instantly creates a ripple of goosebumps along Beca’s arms and up her neck: “Are you familiar with Protocol X?”

“So that’s what she meant,” Beca mumbles, recalling Stacie’s comment about sending her instructions. She rubs her eyes. “I guess it was bound to happen someday,” she sighs eventually.

“Yeah, I can’t access the security system at the house remotely, but I think it’s safe to assume it’s getting ransacked as we speak.” Jessica’s voice is tight as she speaks. She can vaguely hear Ashley beside her, murmuring gently.

“They’re just things, Jess,” Beca says softly. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Jessica whispers. “I know. Stacie just wants to protect us, but…we built a life there together, Beca. I didn’t expect…to never see that place again. Sorry, I know what I need to do, I just…I just need some time.”

“There were five in the forest when we were heading into the bunker. Probably more now that the word’s out. So…”

“I’ll…I’ll get it done. I’ll call you later, Beca. Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Protocol X is one of many products to come out of Sofia’s paranoia—the final gambit to break every wall they’re backed into. It is the cyanide pill in every espionage kit, the one guarantee where all else fails. Beca has always viewed it as an inevitability, given Sofia’s callousness for humankind and the constant danger of making enemies, but it always _felt_ so far away, as if she were on a conveyor belt, chasing time on parallel tracks. She never imagined it would all catch up to her so quickly.

She lays her head back against the couch, ignoring the probing gazes of the other eyes in the room.

She is suddenly very, very, very tired.

And all she wants now is to curl up next to Chloe and forget the rest.

It has been two hours since Stacie and Aubrey descended. The smart ones probably got out by now.

What did they find? Beca wondered briefly—it doesn’t matter now.

Jessica must be putting in the sequence by now. The house will be fully engulfed in flames in a span of minutes. She pictures the gas line splintering open like desert flowers, taking with it the walls, the carpet, the books, the ghosts, the memories—every hidden document, every evidence of their existence as a family, every reminder of their haunted childhood, every laughter in those halls. Almost everything she’s ever known is contained within that house.

If she lost Stacie too…

She shudders and rubs her hands against her upper arms.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks quietly.

Beca doesn’t speak. She simply feels the way everything around her—within her—collapses bit by bit.

“Beca?”

Beca looks up at the sound of Chloe’s sleepy voice by the door. She is beautiful, her hazy mind whispers, even under the yellow light, wrapped up in her blanket as her wild, red hair drapes across her shoulders. Her lips are pursed with concern.

Emily silently moves aside to stand by Flo.

Chloe immediately fills the missing space and more when she reaches an arm around Beca’s shoulder and pulls her into her embrace. “I’m here,” she whispers simply. And Beca closes her eyes and sinks deep into the comfort. “I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Jessica’s heart can’t stop hammering. The adrenaline rush when she typed Stacie’s string of letters and numbers into the computer still hasn’t faded. It’s been half an hour since she envisioned the house aflame, and she still hasn’t fully absorbed the impact of that simple press of the enter key.

All she saw in her mind’s eye is fire through every room she’s grown to love. Her favourite spot by the pool, her greenhouse, her bedroom, her kitchen—all shells and ashes by the morning.

She can feel Ashley’s eyes on her, concerned as she studies her profile beside her. She’s pale—almost as pale as Jessica feels. This was their home of nearly a decade, and to suddenly lose it all is—it’s simply incomprehensible. She squeezes Jessica’s hand, and Jessica squeezes back.

“It had to be done,” Ashley whispers. “If people found us…found the things that tied us to that house, even Beca…”

“I know.”

Ashley chews nervously on her lower lip—she doesn’t know what to say, and Jessica hates the guilt of making her feel this way. “There will be insurance money,” she says, shaking hope into her voice like the last drops of water in a desert. “We can rebuild. It’s just stuff, Jess.”

“I know,” she says again. She sighs and leans into Ashley to let her know she’s okay. “I’m just mourning.”

Ashley nods as she holds her close.

The early morning light is just breaking through their pale blue curtains when Jessica’s phone suddenly lights up. She jolts awake from where she’d fallen asleep against Ashley’s shoulder on the couch—it’s the front door intercom of their apartment building, she realizes dimly as she shakes the sleep from her head. She answers. “Hello?” She mumbles.

“Jessica?”

She straightens, jostling Ashley awake as everything comes crashing back in a rush of blood. “Aubrey,” she breathes. Her breath catches in her throat—she’s almost afraid to ask. “W-where’s Stacie?”

“Here,” Aubrey says distractedly. “Can you let us in, please? Quickly. I…I need your help.”

Shakily, she buzzed them in. “Oh god,” she says under her breath.

Jessica makes a dash toward the door, down the hallway and to the elevator. The numbers blink up from the ground floor, excruciatingly slow. A hand squeezes her arm—Ashley. She glances at her, the terror mirrored in her eyes.

Several long, excruciating minutes tick by before the elevator doors finally slide open with a low rumble.

Aubrey meets Jessica’s eyes, and her expression is grim. The rest of her is battered and bruised, doused in layers of exhaustion. Stacie’s arm is draped across her shoulder, her head hanging limply against Aubrey. Her boots are heavily scuffed, as if they’ve been dragged for some time.

But it’s Aubrey’s hand that catches her attention. There, pressed firmly against Stacie’s side, is a wide pool of blood soaking through the fabric of a sleeve she’d torn from her own shirt. Jessica stares at it, unable to move.

It’s Ashley who gently pushes Jessica aside and leads them out of the elevator, shouldering half of Stacie’s weight as they hurry down the hall.

“It’s done,” she hears Aubrey murmur. “But…”

“It’ll be fine,” Ashley reassures. “She’s still breathing. Jess—Jess? Can you open the door?”

Jessica is behind them, following after them as if possessed. This simply isn’t happening, her mind is still reeling, still rumbling with disbelief. That limp, broken body can’t be Stacie.

She’s inside, watching Ashley lay her down on their couch. Aubrey collapses to the floor, exhausted. She turns to Stacie’s limp body and brushes her hair out of her eyes. Ashley is speaking, but she can’t hear her. It’s as if she’s watching the scene unfold from inside a goldfish bowl.

“Jess!”

Jessica jolts awake to see Ashley standing before her with her hands on her face, frowning. “Get it together,” she says. “Stacie needs you right now. She’s hurt—I called CR to help with the bullet, but I need you to stay focused, okay? We need to get her out of her clothes and we need to get her some fresh bandages. Can you get those bandages for me?”

Jessica nods stiffly.

“Okay, go. Hurry, okay?”

Ashley kisses her quickly, then gives her one more reassuring squeeze along her arm, then pushes her toward the bathroom.

Get it together, Jessica reminds herself. For Stacie.

* * *

Aubrey presses her lips against Stacie’s forehead. It’s slicked cold with sweat, but it’s the only comfort she can give herself. Her throat is tight, like she’s about to burst into tears at any moment. She isn’t. It’s a strange feeling, she thinks as her eyes roam across the red, purple, blue hues across her skin—skin she’s seeing for the first time in a way she never could have imagined—to be pushed so far into anger that it becomes resignation. To be pushed so far into sadness that she can no longer cry.

Jessica and Ashley are speaking to Cynthia Rose in their bedroom after she’d retrieved the bullet and sewed her back up. Earlier, she must’ve sensed her surprise when she reapplied Stacie’s bandages with a smile. “Added this to my first aid repertoire after seeing too many kids die,” she explained simply. “She’ll be fine—I’ve seen worse.”

Aubrey grunts with effort as she shifts her body against the couch, her rapidly warming ice pack sliding off her stomach—everything hurts, but nothing hurts more than watching Stacie take a bullet for her.

She lays her head against the couch and places a kiss against Stacie’s bare shoulder. This is not the shoulder that tackled her out of the way when Cole pulled out his gun, but it is bruised nonetheless when they were both flung against the wall by the force of the bomb Cole had strapped to his own chest. It was one drastic action after another on both sides, but they climbed out victorious.

Well, partially victorious when Stacie collapsed minutes into the early morning air. Of course, she planned for this when she’d pressed a piece of paper with Jessica’s address on it in the car. She’d planned for everything except Florencia’s aid, Cole’s desperation, and Aubrey’s broken heart.

So, not everything.

“Lilly just checked in,” Jessica says, walking into the room feeling lighter than she has for the past twelve hours. “The bounty is cleared. He, uh, didn’t have the money anyway after all the people he owed. The house is gone, but at least we will be safe. She’s tracking down any mercenaries who might have taken sensitive information during their raid, so we might have to all lay low for a few more days.”

Aubrey sighs, her heart clenching as her gaze lingers on Stacie’s sleeping profile. “I can’t believe this idiot set her whole house on fire.”

“Me neither,” Jessica chuckles humourlessly. “But I guess Stacie’s always got a plan for everything.”

Aubrey scoffs, then flinches when everything hurts.

“Where will you go now?” Aubrey asks, rolling her shoulders back to meet Jessica’s eyes. She pauses. “Where will we go?” She corrects.

Jessica softens. “Ashley said we could rebuild somewhere else. She’s looking at the insurance stuff now. I’m sure Stacie and Beca would want to—they might even be relieved after all the terrible memories in that house.”

“Would be nice if they retired while they’re at it,” Cynthia Rose joins in as she leans against the bedroom door. “I told Stacie to get herself a dream and stop wearing herself out.” She shrugs. “I know a part of her likes it—keeps her sharp, makes her feel like a good person—but she’s not getting younger, and I think Beca’s done, y’know? Especially after all this. All of this might be a good thing.”

“Yeah… I’m gonna miss that house,” Jessica sighs.

“We all will,” Cynthia Rose agrees. “But not gonna lie, those two need the reset button.”

Jessica nods. “They really do. Something entirely their own.” She offers Aubrey a small smile, “In the meantime, you and Chloe are free.” 

“Chloe is going to love to going to coffee shops again,” Aubrey says with an almost wistful sigh. At the mention of Chloe, a chill sweeps through her. In the fallout of the deafening chaos—the gunshots, Stacie’s numbing cry as the bullet pierces her, Aubrey’s rage as she empties her clip into Cole, and the subsequent blinding white explosion of Cole’s final breath—they’d lost their earpieces and guiltily, she hasn’t thought of Chloe at all. “I need to talk to Chloe,” she realizes out loud as panic began to rise.

“We got in touch with Lilly and her friend—they’re going to lay low for a few more hours. Until morning, just in case there are people lurking in the woods who haven’t gotten the memo yet. They’ll join us here as soon as they can,” Jessica assures her. “You should probably get some rest while we wait. Unless you’d like some tea? Stacie asked us to buy a couple boxes of the green you like.”

Aubrey shakes her head and winces when a jolt of dull pain runs through her skull. She shifts again, her breath hitching when she lays her head back against the couch, her hair brushing against Stacie’s upper arm. “Who is her friend?” she asks, laying her leg out underneath the coffee table.

“Are you sure you don’t want to lay down?” Cynthia Rose asks with a raised brow. “Or, y’know, there’s an armchair right here if you want to stay with Stacie.”

“I’m fine,” Aubrey replies quickly. Her cheeks colour as she quietly adds, “it’s too far away.” From Stacie, her eyes clarify.

“Yeah, alright—I get it. I’m…I’ll go get us all some tea,” Cynthia Rose announces, running a hand through her hair as she blows out a breath. With one last glance between them, she crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen.

“Lilly’s friend—her name is Florencia Fuentes. Have you spoken to her?” Jessica asks once they are alone in the living room.

Aubrey frowns. “Florencia Fuentes? Lilly sent her?” She thinks for a moment, then closes her eyes. “Interesting. Why didn’t she say anything?”

“Yes. It seems she’s a bit of an oddball, but they seem to be getting along.”

“That’s good. She seemed tough—a little hot-headed, but a good person. Honestly...as long as they are safe,” she sighs eventually, “I don’t care anymore.”

And she doesn’t.

It’s all over now.

All she wants is to see Chloe safe—happy. For Stacie to wake up and smile that wonderful, goofy smile as she says something stupid to annoy her.

That’s all that matters.

* * *

By early morning, they’d moved Stacie to the bedroom and Aubrey finally managed to get a couple fitful hours of sleep. She kept waking up, her brain continually conjuring up images of Stacie getting hurt, both real and imagined, periodically pulling her awake to make sure that Stacie is still breathing beside her.

Each time, she held onto Stacie’s hand tightly, unable to get closer with her wounds, as she watched her steady breathing while she waited for sleep to reclaim her. Over and over again.

She wakes up once more when the sunlight filters through the translucent curtains and hits her eyelids. For a moment, she is reminded of Stacie’s bed—it feels so long ago now, when they nearly walked themselves back to square one. Her eyes flutter open when memory kicks in with an image of how differently they laid beside each other now.

She turns to her side with a wince and finds herself staring into green eyes, a beautiful olive shade she’s never really noticed before in the dimness of where they spent the most time. Her mind stutters—she’d always assumed her eyes were on the spectrum of hazel, but this light adds a different dimension. A different layer of unfathomable depth she falls in love with all over again.

“Hello, beautiful,” Stacie says with a tired smile.

Aubrey pulls herself out of Stacie’s eyes to her split lip, where the words that came out of them slowly sinks into Aubrey’s consciousness. Her eyes dart back up to meet Stacie’s. “You’re awake,” she breathes. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but what a view.” She attempts a wolffish grin that contorts into a grimace when she tries to turn to her side. “Ugh, ow,” she grunts, “forgot about the gunshot wound.”

“What were you trying to do, you idiot?” Aubrey laughs. Her whole body exhales a breath of relief when she feels Stacie squeeze her hand. Reassuring her.

Stacie pouts. “I just wanted to kiss you good morning.”

Aubrey props herself up by the elbow and sweeps her hair back and out of her eyes. “You should have just said so,” she says, leaning forward to very gingerly drop her lips onto Stacie’s. Her fingers linger on the soft curve of her jaw, cradling it as she studies the love in her eyes—there is a bluish hue to the green, a muted seafoam she wants to wade in. “Look at this,” she murmurs as her thumb lightly caresses the cut in her lip. “You’re so reckless.”

“Had to protect your ass somehow—you know how much it means to me.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Aubrey whispers.

“I do,” Stacie says, grinning. She squeezes her hand once more. “Kiss me again?”

And Aubrey complies. She feels Stacie kissing her back languidly, and she moves to deepen the kiss until she hears a hiss of pain.

“Did I hurt you?” she asks, brows knitted in concern.

Stacie chuckles. “Mm, remember the last time you asked that question?” She says breathily, a tired smile playing on her lips as she lays back and watches the blush spread across Aubrey’s cheeks. “I would love to recreate some fond memories with you right now.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Aubrey says rolling her eyes, “you can’t even move.”

Stacie closes her eyes. “Thank god I have a photographic memory,” she says with a grin.

Aubrey shakes her head. “Honestly,” she murmurs, lightly caressing Stacie’s cheek with a thumb, “I don’t know how you can be so carefree after all of this. I’m mad at you for almost getting yourself killed, you know.”

“You’re mad at me, are you?” Stacie grins when their eyes meet once more. “You’re so beautiful when you’re mad.”

“Stace, I’m serious,” Aubrey huffs.

“Me too,” she whispers. “That’s why I don’t regret a thing—I’m just happy to see that you’re okay.”

Aubrey lays her head against Stacie’s shoulder when the effort of propping herself up starts to strain. She squeezes her hand once more—the simplest form of contract they could muster in they state. “You have a whole house of women counting on you, Stacie,” she says toward the ceiling. “You can’t be so reckless when so many people need you. Including me.”

“Yeah?” She felt Stacie’s lips against her hair, and a quiet sigh as she nuzzled closer against her. “So…should we talk about our promise to Flo? And what that entails for…us?”

Aubrey absently ran her fingertips across Stacie’s upper arm, dancing around each scratch and bruise as delicately as she could. “Yes, but…you really should rest.”

“I’m exhausted,” Stacie murmurs against her and squeezes her hand with the little strength she has, “but I also know…I won’t be able to rest until I know…whether I have a future with you, Aubrey.”

Aubrey hums. “Well, I heard you set your house on fire, and I’m pretty sure my landlord is going to evict us any day now if he hasn’t already, so…if you’re asking me to be homeless with you…”

Stacie laughs, though it is cut short by a groan of pain. “I wouldn’t let that happen to you,” she says, exhaling as she rolls her head back.

“I don’t mind,” Aubrey says, shifting to her side with effort to meet her eyes. “If we’re homeless. I…just want to stay with you.”

Stacie’s eyes shone in the morning light when she turns her head and gives her that look again. The one that brings her back to that morning; the one that holds her eyes like some precious thing and tells her entirely how much she is loved. “Even after...”

“Even after we find those girls, yes—for as long as we can stand each other, I suppose,” Aubrey says with a chuckle.

The corner of Stacie’s mouth dips, her eyes suddenly misty as she whispers, “What about your career? And Chloe? And—and what if you get hurt again? What if Florencia—what if she betrays us and you get hurt? I…I’m not worth the risk, Aubrey.”

Aubrey reaches up to caress her cheek with a thumb. “I’m not the one laying in bed with a hole in her side,” she says with a raised brow. “And I think you know full well I’m not going to be satisfied at the precinct, especially not without Chloe, and she isn’t going to leave Beca behind if she can help it.”

“Well…maybe.”

“Aren’t you always one step ahead?” Aubrey chuckles.

“I’m not,” Stacie sighs. “I guess…I thought I was, but…I’m not.” Aubrey’s brow furrows when her voice suddenly strains, and she edges a little closer almost subconsciously. “After what happened last night, I’m…I’m not sure of anything anymore. You were right—I was arrogant, and that made me careless. I put you in danger—I put all of us in danger, and the house—god, I should’ve been more careful with Emily, but Beca—”

“Stacie, stop,” Aubrey says, clapping both hands gently around her face. “You need to stop. Nothing that happened in the last few days is your fault, but more importantly, Chloe and I are free because of you. We’re both alive and we’re free. You can’t know _everything_ , Stace, and you don’t have to.”

“But—"

Aubrey presses her palms against her cheek a little harder, until Stacie winces a little. “Listen to me. You’ve got yourself a wonderful family who loves you and has your back.” Stacie nods silently. “You know…Flo—it turns out that Lilly had sent her to look after us. She was watching over you without you knowing.”

“What?” Stacie breathes.

“Mmhmm. You’re so loved, and you keep forgetting. Nobody wants you to shoulder the world on your own.” She leans in and brushes her lips gently against Stacie’s slightly parted lips. Then, she smiles a little at the surprise still etched in those green eyes. “I chose to go with you and fight by your side, and I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t love you, Stacie. Understand?”

Stacie’s breath hitches in her throat. “You…you do?”

“Obviously,” Aubrey says, rolling her eyes playfully.

“But I—I love you too,” Stacie whispers, blinking as if she still can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.

Aubrey laughs. She relaxes her arms, sliding them gently down. One folds between them while the other drapes across Stacie’s chest to play with the soft hair around her neck. “I know, dummy,” Aubrey murmurs as heat gathers once more across her cheeks. “You told me already.”

Stacie pouts. “I can’t tell you again?”

“Of course you can.” Stacie reaches up to touch Aubrey’s arm—it takes strenuous effort, and she doesn’t quite make it. Aubrey lowers her arm and meets her halfway, mirroring her relieved grin when her fingertips finally connect with her skin. Her heart flutters—Stacie is radiant with love in spite of the exhaustion, but she’s eager to say it anyway.

“I love you, Aubrey.”

Aubrey kisses her shoulder—the closest she could reach with the last of her energy. “I love you too, Stacie Conrad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm finally back with the denouement! This chapter is SO long, and SO much happens. I apologize for that, but I really, really wanted to wrap up the arc. 
> 
> Stay tuned for the final chapter. Until then, as always, I appreciate any and all love you've shown me thus far. If you made it here, my god, thank you. It's been such a journey. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you'll stick around for the end, because now that we've achieved peace, the world is our oyster. I think the Bellas are going to enjoy what I have in store. 
> 
> In the meantime, I released a couple of stories since the last update ("Coppelia" and "Everytime You Go" and, of course, the beloved "Christmas Connection"). Thank you very much for all the love you've shown to those stories :') There may be a few more before the last chapter is out, since it's something I like to do to reset my brain, especially during the editing process. I hope you'll check those out :)
> 
> Some additional notes for anybody interested:  
> \- For those of you who were concerned about Flo, I hope your patience was rewarded. She ended up with a pretty special role since Chapter 7. Originally, I wasn't going to fit her into the story, but after a few discussions with a friend, I saw the light and realized she was perfect for a badass vigilante double-spy. Given how she's characterized in the movie already, it was pretty easy to just elevate what she already had onto the next level. Is it weird to start shipping Lilly and Flo after this?!
> 
> \- The final battle with Cole is something I struggled with for several months now. Even before I started typing this chapter up, it's been on my mind. On the one hand, it is very much the climax of this specific arc that frames this story. On the other hand...he didn't really matter? This whole time, he's been an oppressive presence in the background. Had I given him a voice since the beginning, things might be different, but for this story, his role was more of a driving force for the development of the characters that actually matter. I wanted him to humble both Stacie and Beca, and challenge them when they are given something to lose. Thus the final decision to have the battle take place off-screen, so to speak, and focus instead on the characters' internal struggles and their growth. 
> 
> \- A million years ago, Chloe asked Ashley to pick up a gift for Beca. Remember that? ;)


	10. The Finale

Beca’s consciousness slowly pulls awake as the sun lights her eyelids. One by one, sensations come to life. She’s enveloped by warmth, her body so heavy with sleep that it takes several moments more to register a tingling on her bare skin, a trail of hot breaths travelling from her chest to her stomach and the delicate press of fingertips from her hips to her thigh. She exhales a quiet moan.

“Chloe,” she whines sleepily. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to find the head of soft curls, latching kisses on her skin, and she takes a few extra moments to bask in the pleasure waking up with her. When her eyes finally flutter open, she finds Chloe’s crystal blue eyes staring up at her from her stomach, a wide grin across her face.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Beca rubs her eyes and shivers a little when she realizes Chloe had pulled off most of her blankets, draping herself over her torso instead. “What are you doing?” She mumbles.

“I wanted to take the dogs out for a run,” Chloe replies, her fingers drawing slow circles around Beca’s bare hips as she speaks. “But I looked over and you just looked so cute that I changed my mind.”

“Chloe, we were up all night,” Beca groans. “Aren’t you tired?” In spite of the protest, her fingers make themselves at home in Chloe’s hair as she gently encourages her further south. The little touches drive her insane, and Chloe’s smile broadens.

“Nope,” she says, sliding down to plant a kiss against her inner thigh. “I’ll just be a minute—you can go back to bed after.”

Beca frowns when she feels Chloe smirk against her. “A minute—” Any semblance of annoyance is immediately cut short when Chloe puts her mouth on her. She arches her back, fingers tightening in her hair as she gasps. Heat soars, pooling at her centre as Chloe’s tongue runs languidly along her length.

Three years and it’s still such a thrill. Each time, Beca marvels at the way she falls more and more in love. The bedsheets curl beneath her left hand, where a blue topaz shines between two diamonds. Chloe’s matching topaz rests on her inner thigh, the cool metal band cutting through hot skin as she enters her. Beca moans, quiet prayers on her lips as she falls upwards, following Chloe as far as she’ll take her.

Three years, she thinks, breathing hard when Chloe falls back into the pillow beside her, and she still can’t quite believe this is her life. She reaches out to curl a lock of hair behind Chloe’s ear, and as the orange glow of the early morning sun catches the blue of Chloe’s eyes, she finds herself breathless for a whole different reason. Her fingers linger by Chloe’s cheek for a moment, and she admires the blue topaz once more. There are days none of this feels real. Though it can only be symbolic without a recognized identity, it is a testament to how far they’ve come, how far Beca has allowed herself to dream. When she bought these rings a year ago, the sky blue suspended in white took her back to that day in the field—it would always remind her of cotton clouds, and clear blue skies, Chloe’s hand in hers, and the silent promise of forever that followed.

Chloe’s hand covers her own as she smiles. “What are you thinking about?” She asks.

“Not much. Just how much things have changed since we met,” she replies with a sheepish smile. “In a good way, of course.”

“I do love being able to go to the farmer’s market and not worrying about dying,” Chloe says, nodding solemnly. “Oh! And our dogs and Cotton being a papa, of course. I love all of our grandchildren.”

Beca laughs. “Those are pretty great, but I was actually thinking more, like, being able to wake up like this with you, you know?”

“I definitely love that part too.” Chloe snakes an arm around Beca’s middle. “I also love how much you sleep and how soft you’ve gotten.”

Beca raises a brow. “Dude, did you just call me fat?”

“I said you got _soft_ , silly,” she says, raising her own brow as she runs a hand over the curves of her backside. “In many ways. Plus, you’re the sexiest woman I know, no matter what shape or size you are.” She adds with a grin. “As long as you’re happy, healthy, and glowing the way you do.”

“Hm, first you called me fat, then you say I’m glowing. Chloe Beale, you didn’t accidentally put a baby in me, did you?”

Chloe rolls her eyes, but laughs nonetheless. “You’re such a dork. But how cute would you be with a baby?”

“Is that…something you want to discuss?” Beca asks, gazing steadily into Chloe’s eyes.

“Maybe…eventually?” Chloe says, blushing when sudden nerves overtake her. “I mean…we have our fur babies, but…I guess we’ve never talked about it—I…understand if—I guess I just thought—I mean, I’ve always imagined myself…maybe one day—uh…yeah. Maybe.”

Beca quirks a small smile, pressing her palm against her cheek to ease her. “I don’t mind if we talk about it eventually,” she says slowly. “I guess I’ve just…never really thought about it before. It…wasn’t like I had the best…role models, I guess. So…I don’t know if I can…you know, do it right? Especially with so many things to work through,” She shakes her head. “Give me some time, Chlo, because…it sounds nice…I think.”

The apprehension, wound tightly in her chest, unfurls when Chloe’s smile returns. “Okay.”

“For now, you should really go take the dogs out,” Beca says, sitting up slowly. She sweeps her hair out of her face and sighs. “Today’s the big day.”

Chloe reaches up and angles Beca down for another kiss. “It’ll be okay, Becs,” she murmurs.

Beca covers Chloe’s hand with her own. “I know.”

* * *

Stacie leans her elbows on the railing of her bedroom balcony, cradling a mug of green tea in her hands as she looks out at the world laid out before her. The green fields, stretching into the woods beyond, where she can picture the short hike to the water’s edge. At the centre of the field is a large rectangular structure surrounded by a simple white fence. Chloe is standing at the gate, her red hair fiery in the morning sun, holding it open as the various shapes and sizes of their dogs come bounding out of the rectangular structure toward her.

Jessica’s greenhouse and garden, three times the size of her old one, is just visible beyond the sloping roof of the Lodge. 

The Lodge sits near the entrance of their property, and Stacie made sure it would be everything Sofia’s house wasn’t—warm, welcoming, unpretentious, a home within a home. It’s a massive two-storey structure with deep wooden colours and big open windows, big enough to house up to four guests in addition to Jessica, Ashley, Emily, Flo, Lilly, Amy, CR, and her wife, Kat whenever they come and go. She squints now when she vaguely sees Jessica waving from her bedroom on the second floor. Laughing, she waves back.

Stacie is surprised Jessica is up already. Beca and Chloe had picked them up at the airport last night, and Jessica had been waiting in the Lodge with a late-night snack. Having slept on the long flight, she’d even spent an extra hour running through the progress on a few new projects. Unlike the old lab, which had been buried underground, the new one was built into the attic of the Lodge—the very tip of the main slope. There is a tinted bay window facing the property, a secret in plain sight that’s easy to see from where she stands now, and she and Jessica had worked in the moonlit lab until Aubrey eventually dragged her to bed.

A mass of dark, curly hair appears from side of the building—she hears Flo laughing in the distance before she sees her run up the back porch of the Lodge with a long-legged black Labrador—Louie, if she remembers correctly, after Louis Armstrong, one of Chloe and Beca’s latest rescues. He adores Chloe, following her everywhere except while she has her attention on the other dogs. She’d seen Chloe and the rest of the pack run into the woods, leaving Louie behind to protect the grounds on his own. He barks, and she sees Flo hug him before disappearing under the veranda. She’s not surprised Flo is up early after the trip—that woman can sleep wherever, whenever her heart desires.

Louie, little more than a lump of charcoal from where she is standing, stalks back out and lays down by the porch steps, patiently waiting for love from the next human to pass by.

“Why are you up already?” She hears her favourite voice in her ear, then her favourite arms wrapped around her middle.

“Good morning, beautiful,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly to brush her lips against Aubrey’s cheek. “I’m just enjoying the peace.”

“How do you not get jet-lagged?” Aubrey sighs. “I could sleep for at least eight more hours, but you left.”

Stacie laughs. “Sorry, baby. We can sleep some more after breakfast? Emily isn’t going to forgive us if we don’t come. She’s already so upset about us leaving for three weeks.”

“Mm, she knows we would’ve taken her with us if her mom wasn’t visiting,” Aubrey mumbles sleepily. “At least we got her those serial killer books from Berlin. And…you know…Flo could probably keep her busy all through breakfast with her stories…maybe she won’t even notice…if we stayed in bed for a bit.” Stacie gasps when feels the gentle scrape of teeth against her shoulder, and a hand creeping its way beneath her shirt. She shakes her head and turns in Aubrey’s arms, the mug of tea granting the smallest bit of distance between them.

Aubrey is pouting, and Stacie doesn’t resist the quick kiss on her lips. Though her hair is a little shorter, and her skin a little more golden with more time in the sun, she still hasn’t quite gotten used to how captivating Aubrey is after three years.

“I can’t believe you’re making me the responsible one,” Stacie says with a lazy smile.

“Well, between all that time we spent in that dingy motel room with Flo and the car chases and the gunfights…we didn’t exactly get a whole lot of time to ourselves,” Aubrey says, nibbling her lower lip as she hooks a finger into Stacie’s shorts.

“I thought our little museum date was pretty romantic until Günther’s men showed up,” Stacie murmurs as she gently pries Aubrey’s hand away. When Aubrey frowns, she holds her eyes and drops her voice. “You know I can’t resist you, but…I kinda miss the girls too,” she admits sheepishly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been away for that long.” 

Aubrey sighs and drops her head to Stacie’s shoulder. “I can’t exactly say no to that, now can I?” With one more kiss to Stacie’s jaw, she pulls back and smirks. “I’m fully expecting you to make it up to me tonight. While we’re still on Germany time.”

“Oh, yes, we definitely have a lot of catching up to do in our own bed.”

While Aubrey changes, Stacie waits downstairs. Her eyes roam around the cozy space of their kitchen and dining nook as she dries her mug. She loves the teal walls that Aubrey chose, the white cabinets, and even the calendars pinned on the bulletin board above the sideboard.

She’d been considering retiring from _Car Babes_ when, toward the end of season 9, she’d seen Aubrey talking to one of the producers of the show. By then, the cast had become so accustomed to seeing Aubrey around with that starry look in her eyes that it didn’t seem all that surprising to see her chatting with the producer, presumably learning about the ins and outs of the show. As it turned out, she was. But only to confirm that Stacie was far too overqualified to simply model forever, something they’ve both known since the beginning. This was how she ended up consulting, then co-producing season ten, launching the show into arguably its best season yet. With season eleven secured to start pre-production in a few months and several declined offers to work on other shows, Stacie no longer needed to be a part of their annual calendar.

Knowing how much Aubrey would miss adding them to the collection she’d stored on her side of the closet, however, she called in a few favours and shot a calendar just for her, complete with twelve months of beautiful sleek vehicles, beautiful slutty outfits, and beautifully atrocious green screen backgrouds. This year’s calendar now sat open on April, displaying a picture of Stacie leaning against a Silverado in the daintiest shorts, a flannel top exposing most of her cleavage and her midriff, and a cowboy hat. Last year’s calendar hung beside it, where Aubrey displayed her favourite picture—December. It’s a sleek, white 1961 Aston Martin Zagato, and Stacie is sitting on the hood in only a fluffy brown bandeau and antlers, her long legs spread out to accommodate the large, wrapped present between them. “For Aubrey’s Eyes Only,” reads a large tag dangling from the bow. As much as this image embarrasses her and sets her up for _far_ too much teasing whenever guests visit them in their yellow cottage, it also inevitably makes her smile because nothing seems to make Aubrey happier than these cheesy declarations of her love.

When Aubrey finally joins her downstairs, she takes her hand and together they head outside, out onto their porch, where they sometimes spend a warm evening on the swinging daybed wrapped up in each other’s company, and past Beca and Chloe’s neighbouring blue cottage, where they sometimes spent colder evenings huddled up in front of the fireplace in their cozy living room, chatting away over mugs of hot chocolate.

They intercept Beca, who is just walking out of the rectangular structure in the yard. It’s a dog shelter they’d built last year, when the number of dogs they were rescuing began exceeding what they could accommodate inside the Lodge and in their private cottages during the winter months. It’s a large, insulated wooden structure with big windows and fluffy blankets. Through the open door, they can just see the grey shape of Billie, sleeping peacefully in a pink blanket. It hits Stacie then that today is the day, and she watches Beca as she takes a long look back at the shelter before turning her attention toward them with a small smile. A white Jindo-corgi mix trots after Beca, lingering several steps behind as she approaches them.

“Hey,” she says, tugging her earbuds out and wrapping the cable around her blue iPod Touch.

“Well, if it isn’t Granny B and her faithful, adorable sidekick,” Stacie says with a grin. She crouches down and offers a hand to the dog, but he simply sits and stares at her with those dark eyes. She chuckles, shaking her head. “Tough crowd as always, Sinatra.”

“Even Sin is telling you to fuck off,” Beca laughs, ruffling his thick, white fur with a grin.

“That’s not fair! I swear you train all your dogs to hate me.”

“Ella likes you.”

“She likes to hump my leg!”

Beca ignores her, craning around Stacie instead to greet Aubrey. “Hey, Aubrey.”

“Good morning, Beca,” Aubrey says with a tentative smile. “How’s Billie in there? Ready for her big day?”

Beca blows out a breath of air. “I don’t know,” she says, fidgeting a little with her iPod. “I’m probably more nervous about it than she is—tried to calm her down with some music just now—thought maybe she might miss that, you know? Chloe used to sing to her and all—but, she’s the same. I don’t know.”

Chloe had given Beca the blue iPod Touch several days after coming out of the bunker. Since then, Beca rarely goes anywhere without the blue iPod Touch in her hand. Stacie heard from Ashley much later that Chloe had asked her to buy it a week into her rescue, assuring that she’d pay it back in full with the little money she had saved up. It was meant to be a simple thank-you gift, but after everything they’d been through, it grew to be so much more. Once everything had blown over, she’d kept her promise and repaid her debt. Following Cole’s death, she’d even secretly gotten it inscribed before giving it to Beca. It was hard not to notice the inscription when Beca quickly developed a habit of absently running her fingers over it and tracing each letter like she’s doing now—“LOVE IS BULLETPROOF”.

On one cold evening in the library, Stacie asked what this meant, and Chloe had blushed when she glanced at Beca. “Chloe used to sing this song every time we practiced shooting,” Beca explained, nudging Chloe with her foot from where she lounged on the couch, her entire face transformed the way it does whenever she talks about Chloe. “Looked so badass doing it too.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” Chloe laughed. “It was so embarrassing, but it was the only way to calm down my anxieties and, you know, actually pull the trigger.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that too, isn’t it?” Aubrey asked with a chuckle.

Chloe nodded, her eyes finding Beca’s as she spoke. “Yeah, I guess, it’s just...all the real and figurative bullets we overcame, you know? We’re so much stronger, and our love is so…wonderful. I don’t think anything can come between that.” She blushes. “That’s all. I know it’s cheesy.”

But Beca still had her eyes on her like she was the only thing that mattered in this universe. “It’s perfect,” she whispered with a grin.

And Stacie remembered the way Aubrey lifted her head from her shoulder and looked up at her with the glow of the fire in her eyes. She didn’t say anything, nor did she have to. They’ve been through enough together to know that nothing encapsulates their own love as much as that simple inscription.

Stacie is pulled out of her memories when Aubrey brushes past her. She blinks as she watches her duck into the shelter and sit next to Billie, whispering something she can’t hear as she pets her square head.

She turns back to Beca now, who’s also watching Aubrey as she worries her lower lip. “Billie will be okay, you know,” she says gently.

“I know,” Beca replies, her eyes still glued to the shelter. “I just…I feel like I’m letting her down somehow.”

Stacie squeezes her shoulder. “You’re not. She loves you, Bec, and she knows you love her too. Simple as that.”

Billie Holiday is a five- or six-year-old pit bull mix Flo had picked up six months ago while they were on a scouting mission. She was tied to a post in an abandoned yard, despite being so emaciated she could barely stand. She didn’t fit in with the other dogs, and did not particularly trust other humans, despite the gratefulness Beca swore she saw in her eyes. So, she spends most of her days here inside the shelter, staring out the window at the birds outside, weary from all that life has given her.

Stacie knows Beca has a soft spot for Billie, reminding her so much of her younger self in so many ways. Billie must’ve been a guard dog, tossed aside when she failed to be useful. She must’ve been so alone, yet so eager to please—until all she was left with nothing. And Billie deserved so much more than nothing. Perhaps that’s why they’ve always known Billie couldn’t stay here forever. She deserved to be loved, completely and unconditionally, the centre of someone’s world. And Beca and Chloe, with their love split between Louie, Ella, Rihanna, Mariah, Beyoncé, Dolly, and Sinatra, simply couldn’t give her that.

“You’re not letting her down,” Stacie says, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over her as she lets these words fall. “She’s waiting to be found, Bec. There’s a family waiting for her out there and she’s going to experience all the peace and happiness in the world. You’re giving her that.”

“Just like you did,” Beca says, meeting her eyes with a sheepish smile, “to me. You and Chloe and all the girls.”

Stacie laughs and pulls her into a hug. “That’s my line, Granny B.”

* * *

When Stacie, Aubrey, and Beca arrive in the built-in sunroom in the east wing of the Lodge, breakfast is already laid out along the long, wooden table, and several seats are already filled. Jessica greets them first as she’s putting down two pitchers of orange juice. Flo mumbles a quick hello with a mouth full of bread as she grins. And Emily stands, running toward Stacie and Aubrey to engulf them in a massive hug.

“Oh my gosh, I missed you guys sooooo much,” she cries into their shoulders as she squeezes them both. They laugh, returning the hug and the sentiment, just as Chloe wanders in, slightly sweaty from her run.

She grins at the display, then bends down to where Beca is seated to give her a quick kiss on the lips. She sits down with a grimace, apologizing briefly for the stickiness.

“I didn’t think you’d get back so fast,” Beca says as she reaches for the orange juice.

“Yeah, just a quick lap today. I didn’t want to miss Aubrey and Stacie but—” she nods toward the tangled mess of limbs that Emily created at one end of the room. “I probably didn’t need to rush back.”

“ _Dios mio_ , you would think they have not seen each other for twenty years,” Flo says with a shake of her head. “Those two would not be so gushy about old Flo if you did not see me for three weeks.”

“That’s different,” Stacie huffs, as she drapes her arms across Emily’s shoulders. “Sweet, baby angel Emily is special.”

“And we are used to not seeing you for three weeks at a time,” Aubrey adds, nodding as she hooks her arm beneath Emily’s.

Flo clicks her tongue. “Is this what you call, ah, favouritism?”

“C’mon, Flo,” Jessica chuckles as she puts down a plate of sliced fruit before taking a seat next to Beca, “you know everything is different when Emily is involved. She’s their baby. And at least you weren’t asked, ‘Are they back yet?’ fifteen times a day for three weeks straight.”

“The only person who loves those two more than Emily is Emily’s mom,” Chloe adds with a snicker. “She was _so_ bummed they weren’t here.”

“They’re basically co-parents,” Beca quips.

“Hey! I’m an adult!” Emily says, sitting down at the head of the table with Stacie and Aubrey on either side of her. “But I did miss you guys a lot. I was so bored by myself.”

Beca shakes her head as she takes a buttered scone from Chloe. “I guess our nice farm and kickass women and seven dogs are too boring for our little Emily.”

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Emily says, nearly dropping the basket of bread Aubrey had handed her. “I mean, obviously you guys are awesome, and—and the dogs are great, I just—"

“Don’t worry, Em, Beca’s just teasing,” Stacie says, sticking her tongue out at Beca across the table. “She’s just jealous she’s not the baby of the family anymore. And that Katherine likes me more.”

Beca scoffs. “Yeah, unlike you, I’m not in any hurry to be Mrs. Junk.”

“I will kill you if you try,” Chloe says nonchalantly as she takes a sip of her coffee. Beca blanches, stunned for a moment, but Chloe just laughs. “Also, everyone knows Aubrey is Katherine’s favourite. She would _not_ stop asking when you were coming back, Bree. Or, like, what kind of cookies you like so she could bring some next time. Stacie’s got some real competition.”

“No way,” Stacie gasps. “Katherine always told me _I’m_ her favourite.”

“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Aubrey says, raising her brow. “Maybe I should give Katherine a call after all. I deserve a beautiful, mature woman who bakes me cookies, don’t you guys think?”

“I have only seen Mrs. Junk one time, but you would be cute together,” Flo says, flashing Stacie a mischievous grin. She shrugs when Stacie glares, casually reaching for an orange slice at the centre of the table.

“I agree,” Beca snickers. “Hell of an upgrade.”

Chloe joins in the laughter. “I mean…imagine the calendars!”

Even Jessica can’t seem to hold back a grin. “I’ll officiate the wedding,” Jessica chuckles.

“You guys are awful, you know that?” Stacie huffs.

“Omigosh, can we _please_ stop talking about my mom like this? I do _not_ need any weird images in my head,” Emily groans. “And, like, I have a stepdad, you know!”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Stacie would cry and grovel and do whatever it takes to win Aubrey back,” Jessica says, matter-of-factly.

“Hell yeah!” Stacie says proudly. “I’m not above begging.”

“Ew, dude,” Beca makes a face. “It’s not like we didn’t know you’ve been whipped since before you met her.”

“Before?” Aubrey slowly lowers her slice of toast. “Is there a story here I don’t know about?”

“Okay, wait,” Stacie interrupts when Beca and Chloe exchange looks, “it’s _not_ as bad as you’re gonna make it sound.”

“Now I _have_ to know,” Aubrey says.

Flo rubs her hands together. “Yes, I love this tea. I have never seen you two apart, so this is very interesting.”

“Seriously, guys, it’s _not_ that interesting,” Stacie mumbles as the pink creeps across her cheeks.

Chloe ignores her and clears her throat. “Three years ago, Beca saved me from Henry Cole—you guys know this story. A couple of days after I moved in, Stacie discovered I’d been working with Aubrey. So, she calls her on the phone.”

“I remember that night,” Aubrey says with a scoff. “It was just a couple of lines, but it was enough to tell what a pain in the ass you were going to be.”

“Okay, it was a different time,” Stacie says, glancing nervously at Emily, who is simply watching Beca and Chloe in fascination. “I was a different person!”

“That’s not even the full story,” Beca says, waving a spoon. “The night we waited for you to arrive, we were in the foyer—you should’ve seen her.”

“Omigod, yes! I was kinda preoccupied because Beca was mad at me, but I’ll never forget Stacie’s conviction.” Chloe stands and lifts her arms to the sky like she’s about launch into _Hamlet_.

Stacie buries her face in her hands. “Oh god…”

“You didn’t hear her on the phone, Beca,” Chloe recites emphatically. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to be _mine_.” She drops her arms and grins. “And then Beca apologized for her, even though she was mad at me. _So_ cute.” 

“She couldn’t see her own face,” Beca adds, accepting the quick peck on her cheek from Chloe without missing a beat, “but she looked like _such_ a lost puppy while waiting for Aubrey to arrive. Even before she’d seen a picture, she was already waiting for her master.”

“I did see a picture!” Stacie interjects loudly, pointing a finger at Beca. “The one Chloe had in her phone! Her wallpaper!”

“Which one was that?” Aubrey asks Chloe.

Before Chloe can even begin to recall the answer, Stacie replies, “It’s you and Chloe—you have your arm around her, and she’s got this massive ice cream cone. It was super cute!”

“Oh yeah,” Chloe says, nodding, “we had matching backgrounds! Totes forgot about that!”

“Really made an impression on Stacie, apparently,” Beca laughs. “After three years—and you used to call _me_ a goober.”

“I used to find you terrifying,” Chloe says thoughtfully. “But you’re as much of a softie as Beca is.”

“You were a goner for a picture,” Beca adds with a nod.

“I hate you guys,” Stacie moans. “This is bullying.”

“We’re just stating facts,” Beca gestures between her and Chloe, “we were both there. We saw your dumb love-struck face.”

“Wow,” Emily breathes, starry-eyed as she glances between Stacie and Aubrey. “That is… _so_... _romantic_!”

“A puppy and her mistress?” Beca chuckles.

“Yeah! I mean…kinda. It’s like…you saw a picture and heard a voice…and you just knew. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Is it?” Flo asks in shock. “One of my sisters dated a man who made her call him master—she killed him ‘by accident’ when they did spicy things, and then fled to Barbados and married a wealthy tycoon, who likes to call her master—ehm, mistress? I guess that is sweet. I myself do not prefer the oppression and—is bondage the right word? But maybe I should call her and ask sometime.”

The table stares at her for a moment.

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Emily says, puffing out her cheeks.

Stacie tentatively looks up at Aubrey from between her lashes, and finds her smirking.

“Honestly,” Aubrey says softly, picking up her toast again, “if I knew how much you loved me back then, maybe you would’ve been a lot more sufferable.”

“Oh, please,” Stacie replies with a lop-sided grin, “even if I ripped off all my clothes and offered myself to you, you’d still find reasons to think I’m some idiot who doesn’t know what I want.”

“If you—sweet baby Jesus, Stace,” Aubrey mumbled, her cheeks burning crimson.

“This is the most graphic breakfast,” Emily says with a light blush and a smile. “But I kinda missed this.”

“When you start dating again, Emily, make sure you find someone who makes that dumb face when you’re not looking,” Beca says, pointing her spoon in her direction.

Emily chuckles nervously as she fidgets with the handle of her mug. “I don’t think that will happen anytime soon,” she sighs.

Since Emily had broken up with Benji a year ago, she hadn’t shown much enthusiasm in dating again. Between the success of her new podcast, the distance to the city, and the clandestine nature of her work with Stacie, Aubrey, and Flo, it hasn’t been easy fitting anybody into her life. A few dates here and there over the course of the year, mostly courtesy of Amy and her boisterous crew at the cabaret, were all that she managed.

Emily gives them her best smile to reassure them that she’s okay with it. And, for the most part, she is. Except, of course, she isn’t. 

As much as Emily loves her new adopted family, there is undeniable envy when she looks around her. The way Beca and Chloe look at each other and hold each other up, the way Stacie and Aubrey seem to communicate in a language of their own, and the way Jessica and Ashley follow in each other’s strides—she knows the stories, had seen love unfold with her own eyes, and she can’t help but wonder when her time will come.

Perhaps it’s being surrounded by so much love that has elevated her expectations beyond anything else. Perhaps Benji was the perfect man, had they held on and taken the time to mold themselves into something that fit into each other’s worlds. He was sweet and caring, so patient and loving—but the _spark_. The _fire_ she saw in Stacie’s eyes, and the _gravity_ she saw in Aubrey’s—that’s all she wanted. And Benji didn’t have either.

Perhaps she will never find it. But it’s not so bad when she takes in the love around her. She’ll make peace with it in time, because Beca has a point—she doesn’t _want_ to settle for less than what they have. She wants to believe, more than anything, that she’s just as worthy of something amazing as anybody else at this table. This, too, will take time, but she knows she’ll get there.

She will be okay.

“If Em settles for anything less, I’m not going to stand for it,” Stacie says, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “I will destroy that person if they hurt our Emily.”

Flo laughs. “Ah yes, your million ways to destroy a person—I have fond memories. But I think it would be easier for the little one to find someone if you let her make her own decisions, you know. You are too, ah, what’s the word? Mother bear?”

“I do!” Stacie protests.

“You crashed her date, dude,” Beca says, raising a brow.

“ _One_ time! He was getting _way_ too friendly on the first date. As long as they are well-behaved, I don’t have to resort to violence,” she replies matter-of-factly.

“Emily, darling, I think you should trust your own instincts,” Jessica chimes in.

“You gotta learn to stand up to Stacie, Em,” Beca says with a chuckle. “She’s not always right, you know.”

Emily nods weakly as she flashes Stacie an apologetic smile.

“You guys always talk about me as if I’m not here. It’s very rude,” Stacie huffs.

“Regardless,” Chloe adds, “whoever is lucky enough to enter Emily’s heart, I hope for their sake that they are very strong.”

“Stace, are you done already? What did you even eat? Half an orange?” Aubrey asks with a frown. Sometime in their conversation she’d grabbed a slice of whole wheat toast and sliced it in half, topping it with peanut butter and slices of banana. She hands the half to Stacie with a stern look. “Here—finish this.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Stacie shrugs. “Jet lag, I guess.” She takes the half-slice of bread anyway and takes a bite. “Thanks, babe,” she mumbles.

Aubrey wipes her hands before picking up her mug of tea. “Anyway, yes, Flo is right. As is Stacie and Chloe. You know we love you very much, Em, so—no pressure to whoever you choose to spend your time with, but they will have to love you at _least_ twice as much as we do. So, don’t lose heart, but also don’t settle.”

Emily smiles. “I know. I won’t. I promise.”

If only that tingle of envy, that prickle of loneliness understood, too.

* * *

After a leisurely breakfast stretching well into noon, Stacie and Aubrey excuse themselves to take a nap. Jessica and Flo head to the greenhouse to prepare for the volunteers due to arrive in a few days to help her with the planting season, and Emily heads straight to her favourite reading spot with her new books. Beca and Chloe decide to spend some time with the dogs, as Billie’s new family is scheduled to arrive in a mere two hours. 

As they make their way toward the shelter with the snowy-white Sinatra on one side and the jet-black Louie on the other, Beca takes Chloe’s hand and sighs.

“What’s on your mind, Becs?” Chloe asks, nudging her lightly.

Beca flashes a small smile. “Just thinking about Billie, I guess. I’m…gonna miss her.”

“Aw, Becs,” Chloe coos, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss against the side of her head. “She’ll be okay. I mean, we know Sophie, and she doesn’t live that far away. We can always visit. We can probably run over in the mornings and say hi to Billie and sing to her like we always do!”

Beca stops and buries herself against Chloe’s neck. “I know, but…”

“It’s not the same,” Chloe whispers, stroking her hair. “You know this isn’t your fault, right? Us having to give Billie away?”

“Yeah,” Beca sighs. “But…what if she isn’t happy there? What if…I don’t know—what if Sophie falls in love with a different dog, and leaves her all alone? She can’t go through that again.”

“Oh, baby, no, you know she wouldn’t do that. She loves Billie. Remember how she took care of her when we first brought her in? She wouldn’t leave her side.” Chloe snakes her arms around Beca and wraps her up in a warm embrace. “Billie will be fine, and my sweet Beca will be fine too. No one will ever leave either of them alone ever again.”

Beca squeezes herself a little closer. “Okay,” she murmurs.

Chloe tries not to smile too much as she tightens her hold around Beca. To think that three years ago, this fearless woman had rescued her from a storm of bullets and a parade of crooked cops and mercenary gangs. And yet here she is, clinging to her now for comfort, fearless in a different way as she displays her vulnerability for her to see. But Beca has always been honest, has always loved so fiercely. She kisses her on the temple—she loves that so much about her.

Beca looks up at her through her lashes, and angles up for a soft kiss on the lips before pulling Chloe toward the shelter. Sinatra whines a little, as if sensing Beca’s uncertainty. “You wanna come with me tomorrow when we visit Billie, bud?” Beca says, briefly rubbing her hands between Sinatra’s ears with her free hand.

Chloe watches her, and for a moment she marvels at her life. She watches the crooked smile spread across her lips, and Sinatra’s adoring eyes. She glances at Louie, who has run ahead at some point to sit patiently by the shelter. His ears perk and his tail thumps when their eyes meet. And she marvels—that she has a group of dogs, the cottage, the woman of her dreams, all a part of her every day. That there is so much to love—already, this is beyond anything she has ever dreamed.

But there’s more. Her mind reminds her with a quick memory of this morning, laying in bed and imagining starting her own family with Beca. It reminds her of the apprehension and the excitement too; Beca’s smile and “it sounds nice”.

Her happiness is truly boundless, and there are moments where it almost feels impossible, like she would wake up from this somehow. But Beca is here, and she is solid and warm. Even when she lets go of her hand to duck into the shelter to wrap her arms around Billie, she is so much a part of Chloe now that her presence is all she needs.

Chloe sits down cross-legged by Billie‘s bed. Billie glances at her, but otherwise does not make the effort to acknowledge her. “Hello, sweetie,” she says, running a hand across her sleek, grey fur.

Beca lays down behind Billie and hugs her tight. “Hi, Billie, you’re gonna be so happy in your new home,” she murmurs into her neck. “I’m sorry we couldn’t love you the way you needed to be loved.” Billie lifts her head for a moment, then resumes staring out the window, seemingly ambivalent to the two humans except for the slow, steady thump of her tail. “You won’t forget us, will you?”

Chloe is about to remind her once more that Billie will only be living down the road, but she bites her tongue, her heart softening when she sees Beca hold back her tears. “Billie won’t mind if you cry, Becs. She knows how much you love her.” She reaches over and rests a palm on her shin. She knows Beca is relearning love and loss after years of unlearning that very thing. The last three years have been so wonderfully full, so peaceful, so much the antithesis of Beca’s entire life since she was eight years old. Having to give Billie, a gentle soul so much like Beca’s own, away to someone else to love—it takes Beca back to old scars, and all Chloe can do is support her as she tries to navigate out of those depths. “Do you want me to stay?” Chloe asks gently.

Beca nods.

* * *

Emily is sitting on the front steps of the Lodge, buried in her newly acquired copy of _Der Sadist_ by Karl Berg. It’s an old book, slightly tattered along its spine, and she runs her fingers along it now as she glanced back and forth between the book and the translation on her phone. As her brain turns, half trying to comprehend the grisly details of Peter Kürten’s atrocities crimes and half trying to brainstorm a device that can solve the complexities of translation and ease the burden of the former, she misses the crunch of gravel as a faded black Chevy pulls into the dirt lot in front of the Lodge.

She is still nose deep in the specific dimensions of stab wounds when a door slams somewhere beyond her consciousness. Her tongue pokes out from between her lips and her brows furrow as she stares at the disconcerting pictures inside the yellowed pages, missing the sound of footsteps entirely.

It isn’t until a shadow falls over her, eclipsing the sunlight splashed across her page that she frowns.

“Wow.”

Emily raises her eyes and follows the musical voice, the softness of her tone accentuated with the hint of an English accent. Her gaze falls on a woman she doesn’t recognize—she’s tall, the auburn hair beneath her weathered wide-brim hat is tied in a low ponytail draped across the shoulder of a simple, fitted white T-shirt. The woman pulls off her sunglasses and clips them into the neck of her shirt—her eyes so blue in the sun they’re almost ice, yet her smile is warm, and Emily’s heart skips.

And her lips part, though she can’t formulate a single coherent thought because this woman is simply gorgeous.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the woman laughs in a way that twists Emily’s insides, and Emily’s face warms for reasons she doesn’t yet comprehend. “I’m just so envious,” the woman goes on, looking slightly sheepish as she takes a step back, her accent growing more pronounced as she speaks. “I’ve been looking for that book everywhere. Where on earth did you manage to get a copy?”

“You…can read German?” Emily hears herself say, still too stunned for any sort of intelligent reply.

“No,” the woman laughs again, “but the 1938 English translation is equally hard to find. I guess people either don’t have the stomach or the patience for the details of Berg’s interview. One would think the popularity of true crime would call for more reprints.”

“Uh huh,” Emily nods slowly, still unable to treat her eyes away from this woman.

The woman watches her steadily as she shifts her weight from one foot to another. “I’m sorry, you must think I’m so rude,” she sticks out a hand, “I’m Sophie. I live fifteen minutes down that way.” She nods vaguely westward, her eyes still fixed on Emily.

Emily takes her hand slowly. “Emily,” she says shyly. “I, um, live here?”

Sophie grins, and Emily suddenly understands the story of Stacie’s instant infatuation, though this is far more than a photograph, and the enormity of this split-second attraction doesn’t quite sink in yet. “It’s nice to meet you,” Sophie says. “I confess I haven’t had the chance to drop by until now—not very neighbourly of me, is it?”

Emily still hasn’t found her words as Sophie’s warm fingers are still holding her own, so she simply nods.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head, “if you’ll excuse me if I’m being a bit too forward here, I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around because, well—I’m sure I would remember if I did.”

Emily’s heart skips again when Sophie finally retracts her hand. She studies Sophie’s patient smile and wonders what she’s accustomed to getting away with. “Uh,” she says finally, “I’m usually…around, I guess? I come and go—I mean, sometimes—we travel a lot. Not a lot—a normal amount. Maybe I just don’t go out too much? I, um, I do a lot of research in the library. I, uh, host a true crime podcast, so I don’t know—I don’t think about the sunlight all that much. Is that weird? I guess we all need sunlight. Sorry—I’m rambling. You didn’t…need to know…all of that, I guess.” As she trails off, she raises the book higher and higher to shield herself from the embarrassment flooding her entire body. “Jesus, Em,” she mutters under her breath.

Sophie is silent at first, her eyes flashing with amusement. Emily glances up tentatively, anticipating the worst, but Sophie only points at the book in her hands. “Is that the kind of content you cover on your podcast?”

Emily nods. “Yeah…I…I’m…better at speaking when I can edit out all my nonsense,” she says with a nervous chuckle.

“I’d love to listen to it sometime—I’m a big fan myself, as you can imagine.” Sophie reaches into the back pocket of her blue jeans and pulls out her phone. “I don’t know many people into this stuff,” she says slowly, “you wouldn’t happen to want to be friends, would you?” She waves her phone a little with a charming half-grin.

Emily’s eyes widened. Her own phone is resting on her knee, still open to her translator app. It has barely been five minutes since this woman appeared out of nowhere, yet she carried herself with the kind of assuredness that Emily can’t help but admire—and fear. She’s already be asking for her number when Emily still isn’t sure whether she’s dreaming this woman up. But she finds herself nodding, finds her hand picking up her phone because how is she supposed to turn down an offer from a woman seemingly tailored just for her.

Sophie had just handed over her phone when the front door squeaks open.

“Oh! Sophie, you’re early!”

Sophie looks past her and up the steps at Jessica, and her smile broadens. It sends an unfamiliar prickle of something skittering across Emily’s heart, and she frowns. “Hey, Jess, you all right?”

“I’m…good? Is that right? Still not quite used to that one,” Jessica laughs as she travels down the steps to give Sophie a hug.

“And I’m still not quite used to _this_ ,” Sophie replies with a chuckle as she pulls away. “All this physical affection still hasn’t quite beat the English out of me yet after ten years.”

“Well, I’m sure a few more hugs will do the trick,” Jessica replies, going in for a quick second hug.

Emily watches blankly as they banter on like old friends. Jessica is completely enthralled by Sophie’s charisma in a way Emily has seldom seen. It takes several minutes more for Jessica to even notice her sitting there with Sophie’s phone in her hand. “Oh!” She says when she does, “Em, have you two met?”

“Briefly. Just now,” Emily replies with a small smile. “H-how do, uh, how do you two know each other?”

Jessica studies her for a moment with a curious look in her eyes. “Chloe and I run into Sophie all the time at the farmer’s market,” she looks to Sophie, who simply smiles in confirmation. “She’s the vet who brought Billie back to life—we must’ve talked about you every day, singing your praises for months on end,” she says, shaking her head with a laugh.

Emily vaguely remembers this, but mostly she remembers Flo rescuing Billie then chasing a target across the country. Emily had been the one to connect all the dots and confirm the target’s flight path to DC, but she had been wrong. She can still recall the disappointment on Stacie and Aubrey’s face when they realized he’d actually fled to Miami, and the utter adrenaline of setting off to Miami on her own in an effort to redeem herself. With Lady Luck on her side, she managed to clumsily take the target down, though not without a fair number of bruises to show for it. Nonetheless, she’d never seen Aubrey and Stacie so _furious_. All she remembered was that when she came home, feeling like she’d been dragged by the ear despite the hint of pride they later revealed, the grey dog they’d brought home looked completely different.

“Billie is really the sweetest dog,” Sophie says, pressing her hand to her heart, “I can’t tell you how excited I am to take her home with me and love her forever.”

Jessica’s smile dims a little. “I’m afraid Chloe and Beca are still saying their goodbyes. It’s… not easy for them.”

“Understandably,” Sophie says with a solemn nod. “Please let them know to take as long as they need. I’m free the entire afternoon.”

“Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” Jessica pauses. “Or maybe you’d like a tour of the grounds since this is your first time here? I’m sure Emily could show you around.”

Emily catches Jessica’s eyes and is startled by the mischievous gleam in them. “I…could,” she mumbles.

“That sounds lovely,” Sophie says, grinning. “Rain check on that tea, then?”

Jessica returns the smile. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunities in the future.”

* * *

Fresh from a perfect early-afternoon session of lovemaking, followed by the perfect nap, Stacie kisses Aubrey’s temple and laid in bed, listening to her steady breaths as she once more gives thanks to the universe for this new life. In high spirits, she soon ambles out onto the balcony and takes in a deep breath of fresh air as she stretches her arms up into the air.

She surveys takes in the scenery once more—the wide-open sky, the beautiful birds tittering in the silence as they flutter by. For a moment, everything is still. Beca and Chloe must be taking Billie out for one last walk in the woods, she thinks idly. She hears a dog bark in the distance—it’s Beyoncé and Rihanna, two twin Italian greyhounds in matching pink and red sweaters. She can never tell them apart, but they’re adorable as they chase each other around the yard, barely taller than the unmowed grass. They suddenly stop and look toward the Lodge, ears perked and bodies stiff. Stacie is wondering what caught their attention when she hears it: Emily laughing in the distance. She follows Beyoncé and Rihanna’s gaze to the back porch, where Emily is smiling at a tall, unfamiliar redhead as they come out of the back door.

Stacie grips the bannister—even from all the way up here, she recognizes the adoration radiating from Emily’s face.

Oh no.

She runs back inside. “Babe!” She cries, leaping onto the bed and shaking Aubrey awake. “We have to go! We have an Em-mergency!”

* * *

“This is Cotton,” Emily says, picking up the fat, grey rabbit from its large pen beside the greenhouse. “Beca and Chloe rescued him when he was a tiny baby. We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we, Cotton?” Emily pauses to nuzzle her cheek into Cotton’s fur, then clears her throat, embarrassed as she catches Sophie’s amused expression. “We thought he was a girl bunny for a very long time, so we kind of let our guard down.” She gestures to the four other bunnies in the pen. “As you can imagine, we ended up with way too many Cotton Juniors. Luckily we managed to give most of them away.”

Sophie smiles as she takes a step closer to stroke Cotton’s fur. “Adorable,” she says simply, her eyes still trained on Emily’s.

Emily’s breath hitches in her throat—she’s so close that she could smell the faint scent of sunshine and clean laundry on Sophie’s skin, and she wonders, her heart hammering wildly, whether she’s going to kiss her. Sophie has been nothing if not polite, every bit the English gentlewoman her accent alludes, but Sophie’s gaze flickers to her lips, and Emily is reminded that this is also a woman bold enough to ask for her number within five minutes of conversation, and charming enough that she fell over herself trying to give it to her.

“You have the most exquisite eyes,” Sophie says in a low whisper.

Oh my god, Emily screams internally.

“T-thank you?” She stammers back.

“HEY! YOU! STEP AWAY FROM EMILY!”

Emily leaps back in surprise, flailing backwards and nearly tripping on a garden hose behind her as Cotton flies out of her arms. Luckily, Sophie reacts and is able to catch Cotton in a few quick steps as he skitters across the grass in alarm. She cradles the rabbit in her arms and looks up to see two women fussing over Emily’s hair and clothes. “Omigosh, you guys scared the heck out of me,” Emily says with a pout. “You didn’t have to shout—we—we were just talking…”

The tall brunette is about to respond when Sophie approaches with a polite smile, without a hair out of place. “Hello there,” she says, “I’m Sophie.”

Stacie turns and gives Sophie a critical once-over. Aubrey rolls her eyes and slaps her lightly against the shoulder. “Be nice,” she says.

Emily meets Sophie’s eyes then and flashes an embarrassed smile.

Stacie steps between them and crosses her arms. “And I can see your boner from space, Sophie.”

Aubrey steps forward with a shake of her head and offers her hand. “Sorry about her,” she says. “I’m Aubrey, and the rude one is my partner, Stacie.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Sophie says with a laugh as she shakes it with a firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you both. And I assure you, I don’t mean any harm.”

Stacie frowned. The last time she raised her voice at Emily’s date, the man had fallen on his ass and scrambled away. This woman, however, seems entirely unphased. She doesn’t trust her smile.

“We saw you two from our cabin—are you one of Jessica’s WWOOFers?” Aubrey asks, sliding a hand across Stacie’s back to give her a reassuring rub. Stacie glances over at her and notes the stiffness of her smile—she’s testing the girl. Stacie relaxes a little, satisfied that she isn’t alone in her distrust.

“I wasn’t aware that Jess hosts volunteers,” Sophie says, brows raised in the mildest expression of surprise. “I might have to sign up—this place is just lovely. But no, unfortunately not. I’m here to collect Billie.”

Stacie’s eyes light up. “You’re the vet Beca mentioned,” she says with undisguised surprise. “Huh. I pictured you much older.”

“Are you friends with Beca and Chloe?” Sophie says, her smile softening. “Wonderful couple, aren’t they? I’ve never met anybody as dedicated to the animals as they are.”

“You’re the one adopting Billie,” Aubrey says in realization.

“Yes,” Sophie’s smile broadens. “I’ve been working with animals for years, but I have yet to settle down long enough to find a dog of my own. I don't have any family here, you see, and my work keeps me busy, so it's a bit of a lonely existence. I believe it was fate when Beca and Chloe walked into the clinic with her for the first time. Sometimes, when you look into someone’s eyes, you just know.” Her gaze flickers behind Stacie for a moment, then back to Aubrey. “The timing wasn’t quite right back then,” she continues, “but I was ecstatic when they called me about her. I only live fifteen minutes away, you see, so you are all welcome to visit her any time.”

“In that case,” Stacie says, slapping a hand against Sophie’s shoulder, “I’ll take you to the dog shelter and we can wait for Beca and Chloe there. They should be back soon with Billie—I saw them heading back down from the woods myself.” She plucks Cotton out of her arms and hands him over to Aubrey, who passes her a stern look as she does so. Don’t worry, she mouths back.

Once Stacie and Sophie are out of earshot, Emily turns to Aubrey. “What on earth was _that_?” she demands. She hasn’t quite raised her voice yet, but Aubrey knows her well-enough by now to see the quiet fury broiling beneath the veneer. “Sophie was just being nice!”

“I know, sweetie,” Aubrey sighs, rubbing her shoulders in an attempt to placate her. “I know you don’t want us to get involved—Stacie is just protective, you know that.”

“But we weren’t _doing_ anything! And—and even if we were, I’m a full-grown adult, Aubrey!”

“I know,” Aubrey says, dropping her arms with a wry smile. “I told Stacie the same thing, it’s just…she said she recognized _the look_.”

Emily frowns. “What look?”

Aubrey bites her lip. “You know the story Beca and Chloe told at breakfast today? That look.”

* * *

Stacie is leaning on the fence of the dog pen with Aubrey beside her, watching Chloe and Sophie’s animated exchange as Billie sat there, staring up at Sophie with her big, shiny eyes. Sophie’s hand is absently stroking her square head, Beca’s eyes trained on the movement as she stands, sulking, behind Chloe. All of their other dogs are quietly watching the new human in the pen.

“Beca’s having a hard time letting go of Billie,” Aubrey observes, leaning her head against Stacie’s shoulder. “And you’re having a hard time letting go of Emily.”

“Is that what you think, Miss Posen?” Stacie says, wrapping an arm around Aubrey’s waist.

“Mmhmm.”

“Then you would be correct. I don’t know if Sophie knows it yet, but that woman is taking everything from us,” she chuckled. “I know I get a little crazy—Emily’s a grown-ass woman. I just don’t trust her yet, even though she seem to have a knack for saying all the right things. Maybe I’m just mad she isn’t scared of me—I really must be getting soft.”

“You’ve always been soft on the inside.”

“I know Flo’s been secretly teaching her how to fight too, so if Sophie’s spell ever breaks, I’m sure she could beat the shit out of her.”

The vibration of Aubrey’s laughter warmed her. “I knew those two wouldn’t be able to hide anything from you.”

“If they were any more conspicuous, they’d be practicing right on our kitchen table.”

“That’s probably true,” Aubrey says. She looks up at Stacie then and gently tugs at her arm. “Come take a walk with me? I wanna show you something.”

Stacie raises her brow. “Okay…I’m not in trouble, am I?”

Aubrey scoffs. “Not with me,” she says, tugging her away from the fence and toward the path to the forest. “You should apologize to Emily though.”

“I know,” Stacie sighs.

They’re quiet as they walk into the woods, hand-in-hand. The familiar well-worn path is damp from the rain two nights prior. They take in the scent of the leaves and the lingering dewiness of rainfall. “Have you ever noticed how different this forest is to Sofia’s? Well, I guess you never spent much time in there,” Stacie says thoughtfully. “It’s weird, isn’t it? It’s the same stuff. Ferns. Trees. Squirrels. Birds. Whatever else hiding in the underbrush.” She brushes a fingertip across a leaf as Aubrey gently leads her eastward, deeper into the woods, tracing a path parallel to the edge of their property. She has an inkling where they are going, but she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“Maybe it’s your feelings about this place too. And the memories you’ve made here,” Aubrey replies, squeezing her hand, “or maybe it’s exactly because this place is yours—not Sofia’s. And you’re nothing like that woman.”

“I can’t believe her name is Sophie,” Stacie says suddenly as they enter a small clearing leading up to a hill. “It’s like Sofia reincarnated to fuck with me.”

“Except Sophie seems like she’s bringing nothing but positive things.”

“We’ll see about that,” Stacie huffs. “I know I should delineate my past from the present and it’s all just a big coincidence, blah blah blah, but I think I’m entitled to my skepticism—innocent until proven guilty, but partial until I can be impartial.”

Aubrey stops and turns, several steps higher at the foot of the hill. The early-afternoon sun illuminating her green eyes beautifully. “What do you think Emily needs to be happy, Stace?” She asks.

“Is this a trick question?”

Aubrey lets go of her hand and tugs her closer by the hip, smiling when Stacie reacts with a swift kiss on her lips. “It’s a genuine question,” she says, peering up at her through her lashes.

Stacie hums as she wraps her arms around Aubrey, gently rocking her from side to side. “Now, what would the clever Miss Posen like to hear, I wonder.”

Aubrey chuckled. “Miss Posen would like to hear what you genuinely think. Stop avoiding the question, you dork.”

“Nuh-uh, there’s an angle here,” Stacie says, pulling back just far enough to flash a smug smile. “Either you’re on Sophie’s side or you’re not, so…I’m gonna guess you want me to say something like love and trust and companionship. Someone who understands her, supports her, wants what she wants for her. Maybe someone who isn’t intimidated by her success and isn’t daunted by her traumas. Someone solid and stable to lean on.” Stacie pauses, raises her brow as she takes a step back to tap a finger to her chin. “Unless you’re going for the strong, independent woman angle, but she already has her success and her family, so…maybe the only thing that makes her happy is a hot vet who isn’t scared of me. Did I get it?”

Aubrey rolls her eyes and steps forward to clap both hands against her cheeks. “You can be so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

Stacie’s lips quirk into a lop-sided grin. “Oh my god, have we gone back to our dating phase?”

“Being stuck in a dungeon with you while trying to get a bounty off my best friend’s back is _so_ not our dating phase,” Aubrey huffs.

“Dungeon!” Stacie clutches her invisible pearls. “That lab was state of the art!”

“Mmhmm, you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” She says, taking Stacie’s hand and leading her up the hill. “You know what I think would make Emily happy?”

“Enlighten me,” Stacie chuckles.

“Nothing.”

“Wow. You really know how to blow my mind, babe.”

Aubrey turns, unimpressed, but cracks into a smile when Stacie responds with a goofy grin. “You said it yourself, dummy—she has her success and her family. She’s accomplished so much. We all have. All she’s missing is the freedom to make her mistakes and embrace change. She’s ready, Stace, and so are you.”

Aubrey pulls her into a jog as they round the crest of the hill. They soon find themselves at the edge of a bluff, overlooking the forest and the property beyond. One of dogs bark faintly in the distance. Aubrey holds out her arms and spins around, gesturing to the blue sky above and the green grass below. When they first bought this property, they’d have picnics up here once in a while, and Stacie vaguely thinks back now to a promise she made early on to plant a tree here for some shade, so they could come up here more often.

She shields her eyes from the glare of the sun and meets Aubrey’s eyes several feet away. Then, Aubrey turns, arms akimbo as she surveys the colourful collection of buildings down below. “Look at what we’ve have, Stacie,” she sighs wistfully. “All of this is ours.”

Stacie comes up behind her and wraps her arms around her middle, pressing a kiss to Aubrey’s jaw as she melts against her. “I know. It’s beautiful.”

“But there’s a part of you that’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Aubrey whispers. “A part of you that’s still looking over your shoulder, wondering who’s going to come around and take it all away.”

Stacie squeezes her closer. “Old habits don’t die after three years, my love. And we’re still in the business of pissing people off. I just want to protect all of this. You know change isn’t easy for me.”

“I know,” Aubrey whispers. She turns in her arms and caresses Stacie’s cheek. “But we’re a team, aren’t we? Isn’t that what it means when you tell me that you love me?”

“O-of course,” Stacie replies, alarmed by the sudden emotion in Aubrey’s green eyes. “Where is this coming from?”

“Then, tell me what I can do to ease your burden. Because you never listen when I tell you that you don’t have to protect all of us anymore. That there isn’t another shoe. And that we’re not going anywhere. You can breathe.”

Stacie sighs as she leans into Aubrey’s touch. “I know…I just…I know all of that, Bree. But…maybe some things are just…too good to be true. I can’t just erase everything that happened. Beca and I…we thought everything we wanted after Sofia died. We were happy, and still…I can’t promise those old demons will ever go away, y’know?”

“I’m not asking you to erase it all, babe,” Aubrey says gently. “I’m just asking you to put a little more faith in me.”

“Aubrey…”

Aubrey caresses her cheek with the pad of her thumb. “Tell me, what does Stacie Conrad need to be happy?”

“Hm…good question,” she mumbles, diving in to press a kiss on Aubrey’s lips. “I think this is a good start.”

“Well, that’s easy,” she murmurs, kissing her back gently. She pulls away before either of them can get carried away. “Anything else?”

“Honestly?” Stacie smiles broadly, brushing Aubrey’s hair behind her ear. “I’m good. I have everything I need right here.”

Aubrey nods slowly, then reaches into the pocket of her jeans. Stacie gasps when the sun catches a glimpse of silver. “What if I want to give you a little more than just what you need?”

Stacie’s jaw drops at the sight of the ring. At first glance, the silver bands appear to be sculpted into tangled vines, but she soon sees the twin snakes with sparkling diamond eyes, their tails in their mouths in an elegant, minimalistic design. “Oh my god, A-Aubrey, is that—”

“An ouroboros. Well, two,” she says, her cheeks warm with sudden nervousness. She looks up into Stacie’s eyes. “I…picked this because I want you to know that…I want to stand by you through every new beginning for the rest of eternity. For every up and down, for every time we have to shed our old skins and grow into something new…I...want to be with you every step of the way. Through thick and thin.” Her eyes dart down to the ring, then back into Stacie’s watery eyes. She sees Stacie mouth yes before the question is asked, and she smiles. Still, she takes in a deep breath as she lifts Stacie’s hand in her own. “Stacie Conrad, will you marry me?”

* * *

It was almost four in the morning when Stacie suddenly wakes with a start. She isn’t sure what awakens her—she doesn’t dream much these days, but she takes the moment of tranquility to admire the ring on her finger and the blonde head tucked against her shoulder. She’s still on cloud nine as the four diamonds blink at her in the starlight, and she grins—she has no need for dreams when the end of a beautiful dream and the beginning of wakefulness is so wonderfully similar. She presses a kiss on Aubrey’s head and slowly inches out from beneath the blanket. The draft from the open window hits the warm skin of her naked body, but still she pauses to stand and admire the beauty of the woman curled up so peacefully asleep as she immediately fills her vacated space with an outstretched arm. Her heart is filled with more love than she’s ever felt, more bliss than she ever could’ve fathomed for herself.

Aubrey. Her fiancée. She still can’t quite wrap her head around how lucky she is, and her smile widens—she likes the sound of that almost as much as she likes the promise of the next step.

She kneels against the side of the bed and takes Aubrey’s outstretched hand, gently kissing the knuckle above her matching ouroboros. How fitting, she thinks, when Aubrey is so much her beginning and her end.

She then stands, stretches as she looks out at the starlit sky beyond her balcony. The night is beautiful. A frog croaks somewhere nearby as she wraps a robe around her body. She heads downstairs for a drink of water. As she leans against the counter with her glass to her lips, she raises her brows in mild surprise when she sees the back of Beca’s head on her swinging daybed.

She smiles then, and grabs two bottles from her fridge.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” She says, dangling a bottle of beer by Beca’s hand.

Beca looks up in surprise as she pulls out her earbuds. “Didn’t think you’d be up so late,” she says, accepting the offered drink as Stacie takes the seat beside her.

“Bullshit,” she laughs, “you wouldn’t be on my porch if you didn’t.”

Beca shrugs, then takes a quick swig. “I wasn’t sure, but it was worth trying. Thought you might be too excited to sleep.” She gestures at Stacie’s left hand with the neck of her bottle. “Congrats, by the way. Again. Who’d’ve thought? I mean, I guess it was obvious it’s gonna happen, but if you asked me three years ago…

“I think Jessica predicted it,” Stacie chuckles. “That woman sees everything.” Then, she shakes her head. “Nothing’s stayed the same the last three years, my friend.”

Beca glances over, a tentative smile on her lips. “I know…it’s kind of…nice. In a different way. Except when it isn’t, I guess.”

Stacie reaches over and gives her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Billie is going to be fine. She seems to adore Sophie.”

“I know,” Beca mumbles, “I just don’t like feeling like…such a disappointment, you know? It takes me back to being, like, what? Twelve or thirteen? When I didn’t react in time and you got shot by that Russian dude. Sofia slapped the shit out of me. Obviously, Billie is a dog and it’s a whole different thing, but…”

“But she spent her whole pathetic life breaking us down. I get it,” Stacie says. She puts down her own bottle of beer to twist her ring around her finger, the snakes chasing their tails in both direction. “You know…what happened to us might stick around for a long time. It might even rear its ugly head at the poor people whose only crime is loving us in ways that Sofia told us we were never going to be loved. At the same time, I…don’t want to let it rule us anymore.”

“Yeah…”

“You know,” Stacie says. She slides closer to Beca, slips the ring off her finger and holds it out in her palm. “A lot of ancient civilizations believed that time is a series of cycles. Instead of a straight line, time flows into itself. With each cycle, we go through these journeys that take us back to the beginning—wiser, stronger, rejuvenated and reborn.” She looks up at Beca with a smile. “Aubrey was right—we can’t erase what made us, but we can always be made new. We can always learn. We can always find reasons to piss on Sofia’s grave, you know?”

Beca chuckles, then pulls out a notebook she’d slipped between her thigh and the arm rest. “Still working on it,” she says, giving the book a small wave. “I like that. Aubrey’s smart as hell.”

“Fuck yeah, she is.”

“I mean, my life here with Chloe and the girls and the dogs—it definitely feels like a whole different journey,” Beca says thoughtfully. “Different but…still built on the past, I guess.”

“And I’ve never seen you happier. Not even when I really thought we peaked,” Stacie laughs as she slides the ring back into her finger. “I mean, bounty-hunting with my bestie? We had some good times. You miss it yet?”

“Not at all,” Beca chuckles. “I prefer hanging out with you in non-life-threatening situations anyway.”

Stacie shakes her head. “Badass Beca Mitchell, now a dog-mom and ASL teacher. Not even Jess could’ve called that one.”

“Chloe and I are thinking of writing and illustrating a children’s book too, actually,” Beca says with a shrug. “I’ve been maybe thinking of a story with a ragtag team of dogs learning how to love and support each other through a series of trials and tribulations.”

“Wow,” Stacie says, looking over at her friend in a genuine moment of wonder. “That’s amazing.” She can’t resist the teasing grin when she adds, “Literacy has changed you, B.”

Beca laughs. “Honestly, yeah. I’ve, um, I just finished the Philosopher’s Stone. Reading it by myself and stuff, so…we’ve come a long way, I guess.”

“Dude, that’s amazing!” Stacie says giving Beca a playful punch in the arm. “Seriously. The good news keeps coming. I’m so fucking proud of you, Beca.”

“Thanks,” Beca says with a lop-sided grin. “I’m proud of me too. Couldn’t have done it without Chloe though.”

Stacie leans back into the cushion and heaves a wistful sigh. “God, our lives are fucking fantastic,” she says with a grin. “I don’t even know what more I could possibly want. Life, love, adventure, satisfaction—I’m just so…full. I mean, I’ve been given so much. Before I even learned to ask. I’m…I just can’t get over how goddamn lucky I am.” She leans her head back and stares up at the vast sky.

“I feel the same way,” Beca says. “Well…not entirely. There is something…I’ve been thinking about…something I want…I think. I just…don’t know if it’s a good idea to want it…yet.”

Stacie tilts her head and raises a brow. “Wow, cryptic much? Are…you going to tell me what it is?”

“Yeah, was just working up to it,” Beca mumbles, taking a deep swig of her beer.

“Uh oh.”

Beca exhales, her eyes cast up to the sky to avoid Stacie’s gaze. “Chloe and I,” she says slowly, “we…were thinking…of considering…talking about…maybe, possibly…possibly starting a family.”

Stacie simply stares for a long moment. Her brow scrunches. “Like…kids? Human children?”

“Yeah, human kids,” Beca says with an uneasy chuckle and a roll of her eyes. “I mean, the idea is kind of new—I don’t know. I mean, seriously, me—a parent.” She lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Can you fucking imagine?”

Stacie hums. “You know, I’ve never really thought of it before, but now that you mention it—yeah. You and Chloe would be amazing parents if that’s what you want.”

“Really?” Beca responds with an unimpressed look. “You’re not just fucking with me, are you? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Uh, yeah. I know I don’t give you enough credit, but god, you’re like one of the most caring, generous person I know. You’ve got such a massive heart even though you sometimes like to hide it in a tiny box somewhere. And you know yourself. You know what’s right. You’d do anything for people you love. Like, the fact that you don’t set the world on fire after everything Sofia put you through—that alone is impressive. So, yeah, I think you’d be fucking amazing.”

“I owe a lot of that to you,” Beca replies with an embarrassed smile. “Thanks, Stace.”

Stacie shakes her head with laugh. “I’m just stating the truth. Besides, if you do have a little munchkin, all of us are going to smother him, her or them with _so_ much love. Don’t worry about that. Now that I have to let Emily fall in love and make her own mistakes, I’ll need someone new to terrorize, I suppose.”

“Has Emily set her eyes on someone new?” Beca asks with a smile. “I always thought it was hilarious how intense you are about Em when you used to make it your personal mission that I fuck everything on this planet that moves.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be fine. Emily’s my protégé and must be protected at all costs.”

“Right,” Beca says, chuckling at the ridiculous puffed-up expression on Stacie’s face. “Who is it this time? Someone I know?”

“Yeah, hot vet Sophie—I’d watch out for that one,” Stacie replies, nodding sagely. “That girl’s a little too much like me. Too much game.”

Beca barks a laugh, several decibels too loud as she hurriedly smothers the noise with a hand. “Oh my god, Stace. You _wish_. She’s, like, _way_ cooler than you—no offence. I mean, you should see her tame a horse. Honestly, good on Em—Sophie’s awesome.”

“Dude, I can shoot a bullseye on a moving target from over twenty feet away, how am _I_ the lame one here?”

Beca shrugs. “Don’t know what to tell you.”

They drink in silence for a while, taking in the stillness of the night and the comfort of each other’s company. Pages of the past, present, and future flip across their minds, each chapter brighter than the last. From the orphanage to Sofia, from newfound freedom to finding their family, from losing it all and finding something so much better in Chloe and Aubrey. From only their love for each other, to discovering love in all its wonderful forms.

Aubrey might be the beginning and the end, the love of her life, and the light of her days. But Beca was her sister, her sanctuary and her companion through the longest journey of her life.

Together, they built and rebuilt their lives from the ground up. They laid their ghosts to rest at each other’s feet and learned to love and trust in the world that had been out of reach from them for so long. Together, they built a family that was thicker than blood.

With every cycle through the good and the bad, every bullet and every scar, it’s all led them here.

“Hey, Beca?” Stacie says suddenly.

Beca turns her gaze from the sky to her friend. “What?”

“I’m really proud of us.”

Beca chuckles. “Me too. I’ve got one more drink in here,” she says, waving her bottle slightly. “To you and Aubrey?”

Stacie extends her bottle and clinks it against Beca’s. “Aubrey and I have plenty of time to celebrate—tonight, it’s me and you, bud. To us and all the bullshit that brought us here.”

Beca grins. “To us. I know I don’t say it enough, but...I love you, Stace. Glad we got to share all of this together.”

“Love you too, Baby Bird. Wouldn't have traded it for the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear friends! We have reached the end of an era! 
> 
> First of all, thank you very, very, very much for coming with me on this journey. It's been a wild, wild year, and I'm so grateful for all of the love and support you've shown this story. 
> 
> It's always a little bittersweet coming to the end of such a massive project. I've never written something so long before, and I certainly didn't expect the story to unfold the way it did. I know everyone is here for the romance, but I'd intended for some time to frame the story with Steca. I hope they can inspire everyone to take a moment to de-centralize romance in your life and appreciate all the different kinds of love around you, especially in the darkest moments. "Sanctuary" by Welshly Arms and "In Case You Don't Live Forever" by Ben Platt are both excellent songs for that vibe. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that decision as much as I did, because damn, I was really in my feelings while writing this last chapter. I can't even tell you how happy I am for these characters that have been in my heart for so many months.
> 
> So, what's next? As I mentioned in my Among Us one-shot, I do have tons of ideas in the backburner, so hopefully you'll see me around some more. I have a couple of ideas for the next big project, but girl, I gotta SLEEP. I have an idea for another action/thriller and an idea for something sweeter, more contemporary. Let me know what you want to see next. I'd love to hear your ideas. 
> 
> As always, I really appreciate you all, especially now that we are at the very end. I hope you'll consider leaving a comment to let me know what you think, and/or a little kudo to show your love. I'm always on Twitter, @fireroastedmoo, if you'd like to say hi (or help me organize a game of Among Us with the PP community because I've never played before v_v). 
> 
> Anyway, stay safe, everyone. I love you all, and I'll see you in the next world ;)
> 
> P.S. Did you guys like Dr. Sophie Bush? I had a whole gag about their surnames, but I edited it out in the end. After a friend turned my attention to the friendship between Hailee Steinfeld and Sophie Turner, I thought it only made sense to design the hot vet after her ;)
> 
> P.P.S. Sorry I couldn't include all the Bellas in this last chapter. I did in an earlier draft, but it got a bit too chaotic. Just know that they're all doing great :')


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